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THE INTERPRETERS’ SERIES 


CZECHOSLOVAK 
STORIES 





TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL AND 
EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 


SARKA B. HRBKOVA 


Professor of Slavonic Languages and Literatures 
at the University of Nebraska (1908-1919) 





NEW YORK 
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 
1920 


Copyright, 1920, by 
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY 


Printed in the United States of America 


EF y-10-7 = 


TO 
THE LITTLE MOTHER 


Who, loving her children’s America, kept ever 
blooming, in her new home, a garden of the 
sweet flowers of Czech and Slovak literature. 


468163 


LIB SIs 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2008 with funding from 
Microsoft Corporation 


http://www. archive.org/details/czechoslovakstor00hrbk 


CONTENTS 


Introduction. . ae eee 
Svatopluk Cech . . .. . 
Poltyn's Druny . . . 3s 
Jan Neruda . 

The Vampire 

BeneS . .. 

At the Sign of the Thess Ties 
He Was a Rascal , 
Frantisek Xavier Svoboda . 
Every Fifth Man 

Joseph Svatopluk Machar 
Theories of Heroism 

BoZena Vikova-Kunéticka . 
Spiritless . 

Bozena Némcova 

‘“‘Bewitched Bara” 

Alois Jirasek 

The Philosophers 


Ignat Herrman . 


What Is Omitted from ihe Casi boole of Madame 
Magdalena Dobromila Rettigova 


Jan Klecanda . . 
For the Land of His Bathces 


101 
105 
119 
123 
133 
135 
145 
151 
221 
225 
231 


233 
239 
24) 


iv 


Caroline Svétla . 


Barbara 

Appendix A . 
Appendix B . 
Appendix C . 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Q77 
279 
319 
321 
329 


CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


INTRODUCTION 


THE CZECHOSLOVAKS AND THEIR LITERATURE 


Tue literature of the nation of Czechoslovaks is as 
ancient as its history. For a period of over a thousand 
years, the literature of no nation is more closely en- 
twined with its history than is that of the people com- 
posing the new Czechoslovak Republic. 

When the first despatches began to appear in English 
and American newspapers relative to the exploits of the 
Czechoslovak troops in Russia and Siberia, the average 
reader asked: “Who are these new people? What 
new nation is this that has sprung into prominence as 
a friend to the Allies?” 

It was necessary to enlighten many even of more than 
usual intelligence and to inform the general public 
that it was no new, strange race of whose brave deeds 
they were reading but only the old and oft-tested nation 
of the Czech inhabitants of Bohemia in northwestern 
Austria and of the Slovaks of northern Hungary, the 


name “Czechoslovak” being formed by combining the 
1 


2 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 
two words “Czech” and “Slovak” by means of the 


conjunctive “‘o.”” The Czechoslovaks are, therefore, 
the direct descendants of John Huss, Komensky (Co- 
menius), Kollar, Palacky, Havliéek and a thousand 
other staunch upholders of the truth and right, torch- 
bearers of Europe. 

The Czechs had chafed under Austrian misrule since 
the fateful day when, in a period of Bohemia’s weak- 
ness, the Hapsburgs gained control of the little country 
which, geographically, forms the very heart of Europe 
and in many another way has been the organ which 
sent the blood pulsating freely and vigorously through 
the body of the Old World. The Slovaks have suffered 
even greater persecutions with no chance of redress 
from the Magyar (Hungarian) population which forms 
the southeastern portion of what was once the Dual 
Empire. 

It was no wonder, therefore, that the Czechs and 
Slovaks, enduring for ages the persecutions of German 
and Magyar, and in past periods knowing too well that 
they were but tools for Hapsburg ambition which for- 
got the promised reward of independence when its own 
selfish objects were attained, lined themselves to a man 
on the side of justice and democracy when the clarion 
call went round the world. There was no written sum- 
mons, not ¢ven an uttered determination but when the 
man power of Austria-Hungary was mobilized, the 
Czechs and Slovaks, forced into the Hapsburg armies, 
looked significantly at each other. That look meant 


INTRODUCTION 3 


“We shall meet in Serbia, Russia, Italy, France”— 
according to the front against which they were sent. 

The story of the Czechs and Slovaks, subjects of 
Francis Joseph, fighting on the side of Serbia and Italy 
to whose armies they had made their way in some 
inexplicable manner, drifted through now and then 
to the American public. But, most marvelous was 
the feat of those thousands of Slav soldiers, who, at 
their first opportunity, deserted to Russia—there to 
reorganize themselves into strong fighting units on the 
side where lay their sympathies. 

Then came the downfall of the Russian Revolution 
and the collapse of the whole national morale. The 
Treaty of Brest-Litovsk freed hundreds of thousands of 
German and Magyar war-prisoners in Russia. The Red 
Army was formed, threatening the vast supplies on the 
Trans-Siberian railway. 

Separated, by thousands of miles, from their homes, 
the Czechoslovaks, a mere handful in the midst of the 
millions of German and Magyar freed war-prisoners of 
Siberia who led the vast armies of the Bolsheviki, pre- 
sent a picture of unexampled dauntlessness, of splendid 
courage with only the hope of the attainment of their 
country’s freedom to spur them on amidst their bleak 
and bloody five years’ isolation. It is, indeed, a theme 
for an epic. It remains to be seen whether that epic 
shall be written in the Anglo-Saxon tongue or in the 
language of those whose noble efforts achieved the 
recognition and the independence of Czechoslovakia. 


4 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


A nation producing the quality of men who never 
forgot what they were striving for even though the 
struggle was centuries old arouses the interest of the 
thinking public. Whence came the strength of purpose 
of these representatives of so small a country? The 
Czechoslovak Republic comprises, with the combined 
areas of the former kingdom of Bohemia, margraviate 
of Moravia, duchy of Silesia and province of Slovakia 
but 50,000 square miles of territory and some 12,000,000 
of people. Where then is its power? Surely not 
in the extent of its realm or the number of its inhab- 
itants. 

“Not by might, but by the spirit shall ye conquer” 
is the motto that has been sung by every Czechoslovak 
poet and writer. Its philosophers have added “Only of 
free and enlightened individuals, can we make a free 
and enlightened nation.” 

It can truly be said that the writers among the 
Czechs and Slovaks have been the teachers and saviours 
of their nation. 

In no land has literature as such played a greater 
part in educating and developing national instinct and 
ideals. In countries untrammelled by the rigors of a 
stiff Austrian censorship of every spoken word, it is 
possible to train patriots in schools, auditoriums, 
churches. The confiscation of Czech newspapers for 
even a remote criticism of the Hapsburg government 
was a regular thing long before the exigencies of war 
made such a proceeding somewhat excusable. 


INTRODUCTION 5 


It was then through belles-lettres that the training 
for freedom had to come. And the writers of the nation 
were ready for they had been prepared for the task 
by the spiritual inheritance from their inspired predeces- 
sors. And so it came about that in their effort to express 
the soul of the nation they told in every form of lit- 
erature of the struggles to maintain lofty aspirations 
and spiritual ideals. 

The literature of the Czechs and Slovaks groups itself 
naturally into three main periods—just as does the 
history of their land. 

1. The Early period beginning with the inception of 
writing in the Czech language to the time of John 
Huss (1415) with its climax in the fourteenth century. 

2. The Middle period reaching its height in the six- 
teenth century and closing with the downfall of the 
nation after the Battle of White Mountain, in the mid- 
dle of the seventeenth century. (Only a few desultory 
efforts mark the early part of the eighteenth century.) 

3. The Modern period opening with the renaissance 
of the Czech literary language at the end of the eigh- 
teenth century and including the marvelous develop- 
ment of the present century. 

Only a few names of each period can be included 
in this brief survey. 


EARLY PERIOD 


The oldest writings in the old Slavonic which was 
brought to Bohemia by the missionaries, Cyril and 


6 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Methodius, date back to the ninth century, when the 
Czechs and Moravians accepted Christianity. 

The Chronicles of Kristian telling of the martyrdom 
of Saint Ludmila and Vaclav belong to the tenth cen- 
tury, the historical writings of Kosmas, dean of the 
Prague chapter (1045-1125) following soon after as did 
also “The Chronicles of Dalimil.” 

The authenticity of the beautiful poems composing 
the famous Kralodvorsky Rukopis (Queen’s Court 
Manuscript) has been questioned by the Czechs them- 
selves and cannot, therefore, be included in a list on 
which no doubts can be cast. 

The oldest authentic single piece of literature is the 
stately church song “Hospodine Pomiluj ny” (Lord, 
Have Mercy) belonging to the eleventh century. Some 
years later came the epic “ Alexandrine”’ telling of the 
Macedonian hero and a whole series of the legends of the 
saints. Magister ZaviS, composed many liturgies as 
well as worldly poems. He was later in life a professor 
in the University of Prague which was established in 
1348, being the first institution of higher education in 
Central Europe, antedating the first German uni- 
versity by half a century. The-Czech language for the 
purposes of literature developed several centuries in 
advance of German which did not become a fixed lit- 
erary language until the sixteenth century when Luther 
completed his translation of the Bible. 

Smil Flaska, a nephew of Archbishop Arnot of 
Pardubice, composed in 1394-5 poetry both didactic 


INTRODUCTION 7 


and allegorical, under the titles “Novi Rada” (New 
Counsel) and “Rada Otce Synovi” (Advice of a Father 
to His Son). He presents the ideal of a Czech Christian 
gentleman of his period. 

In fact in the period just preceding John Huss, prac- 
tically all writing was religious or chiefly instructive 
though satire and a bit of worldliness crept even into 
the writings of certain famous Prague priests notably 
the Augustinian Konrad Valdhauser and Jan Milit of 
Krométz who inspired Tomas of Stitny (1331-1401), 
the earliest really great prose writer of the Czechs. 
The latter was among the first students of the Uni- 
versity of Prague, founded by Karel IV. (the same 
Charles I. who ruled the Holy Roman Empire). He 
wrote in the spirit of Milit, his first work being “Reti 
Besedni” (Social Talks) in which he philosophizes and 
gives information about God, the creation and fall of 
man, of man’s struggles to shun sin and attain wisdom. 
He wrote many other volumes on the same order, in a 
pleasing and careful manner which remain as examples 
of pure and correct Czech of his time. 


MIDDLE PERIOD 


The second period of Czech literature was ushered in 
by the greatest figure in Bohemia’s eventful history, 
Jan Hus (John Huss). His birth date is variously given 
—1364 to 1369. Hus was at once a preacher, writer, 
teacher, reformer, patriot, prophet, martyr. To him 
truth was the most sacred thing on earth. Not one 


8 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


jot would he recede from a position once taken for 
the cause of that one white changeless -essential— 
Truth. Every sermon he preached as minister of 
the Bethlehem Church, every address he uttered 
as rector of the University of Prague had the 
essence of the shining spiritual, moral and _intel- 
lectual progress for which he lived and for which he 
was burned at the stake on the 6th of July, 1415, at 
Constance. While numberless volumes by Hus were 
destroyed in the course of a systematic search under- 
taken with the purpose of exterminating them, his won- 
derful Letters, written from Constance, his “ Postilla 
Nedélni” (Sunday Postilla), “Dcerka,” (The Daugh- 
ter) showing the right path to salvation, “Zrcadlo 
Clovéka” (Mirror of Man), “Svatokupectvi” (Simony) 
have been preserved as a heritage to the world. As the 
leader of the Bohemian Reformation which took place 
over a hundred years before the far easier one of Lu- 
ther’s time, as a patriot and writer upholding his 
nation’s rights and ideals, he stands preeminent. 

The simplification of the Czech written language is 
also to the credit of this ceaselessly active man who 
devised the present system of accents for vowels and 
consonants to take the place of endless and confusing 
combinations of letters. The nation owes him a further 
debt for the introduction into the church service of 
many beautiful hymns of his own composition and 
others which he translated. 

A successor of Jan Hus in the fight for a pure and 


INTRODUCTION 9 


unsullied faith was Petr Cheléicky whose works, the 
Postilla or Sunday readings, “Sit Viry”’ (The Net of 
Faith) and O Selmé (Of the Beast of Prey) largely in- 
fluenced Count Leo Tolstoi in forming his non-resistance 
theory. The Net of Faith especially expounded a simple 
religion free of the hypocrisy and evil of the nobility and 
of the cities, living on the labor of the producing 
class. He advocates at that early date (1390-1460) the 
separation of church from state. Jan Rokycana, arch- 
bishop of Prague, on his return from exile after George 
of Podébrad gained control of the capital, though not a 
prolific writer, was an inspiring speaker and left as a 
monument the church of the Bohemian and Moravian 
Brethren which carried out in its tenets the essentials 
which he advocated for true Christians in his writings 
,and speeches. Strangely enough, in later years, he 
turned against the Brethren whose first firmest sup- 
porters were his own pupils. 

The contention of all these writers and leaders of 
thought in Bohemia in the Middle Ages was to the 
effect that the only true source of the pure law of God 
was the Bible. It is not to be wondered at that the 
translation of the Bible, completed near the close of the 
fourteenth century, was distributed in innumerable 
hand-written copies, some of which were most beau- 
tifully ornamented as, for instance, the Drazdanské 
Bible (Dresden) made in 1400-1410, and the Olomouc 
copy in two parts (1417). The first printed Bible in the 
Czech language was from a new and improved transla- 


10 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


tion and appeared in Prague in 1488 though the New 
Testament had already been printed in 1475. 

The Bohemian and Moravian Brethren maintained 
printing houses in Mlady Boleslav and Litomys! from 
which were issued catechisms, bibles, song-books, ser- 
mons and other religious works urging the simple Chris- 
tian faith and spirit of brotherly love as a sure means 
of securing the Kingdom of God on this earth. Through- 
out there was close observation of the humanistic teach- 
ings of Cheléicky whose popularity served to make 
every one eager to read with the result that the literary 
language became more stabilized and literary activity 
was enthusiastically encouraged. 

For a century and a half writers of varying degrees of 
power produced a great quantity of books largely re- 
ligious, didactic, polemical, philosophic, historical, po- 
litical, and scientific but there was relatively little of 
poetry or of purely creative literature in this period. 

One name stands pre-eminent in connection with 
the disastrous crisis of the Battle of White Mountain. 
John Amos Komensky (Comenius) 1592-1670—last 
bishop of the Bohemian and Moravian Brethren and 
first apostle of scientific education—the father of mod- 
ern educational methods—belongs among the shining 
lights of all nations and not alone to the land that gave 
him birth. Being the last bishop of the Bohemian and 
Moravian Brethren, he fell a victim to the orgies of 
hatred practised by the conquerors of the Bohemian 
Revolt when on November 8, 1620, the adherents of 


INTRODUCTION 11 


complete independence from Hapsburg jurisdiction 
were overwhelmingly vanquished. On the battle-field 
of Bila Hora (White Mountain), Bohemia lost its inde- 
pendence and the devastation wrought by passing and 
repassing armies in the dread Thirty Years War left 
the country prostrate for two full centuries. There were 
no means, in those days, of summoning a sympathetic 
and open-handed world as was done in 1914 to the 
aid of a suffering Belgium. Bohemia in 1620 was, like 
Belgium, the victim of wars in the forming of which 
its chief crime(?) was its geographical location. 
But in the seventeenth century, means of communi- 
cation, of transportation for bounteous supplies to 
succour the needy were not developed as they were 
three centuries later when organized relief for a 
wronged nation was the united response of all but 
the offenders against international law. 

It was in the early days of that period that John 
Amos Komensky, encouraging his nation to the last, 
preached a doctrine of universal peace, of settlement of 
international differences by arbitration instead of by 
wars, of a peace and joy securable only through the 
practice of true and genuine Christianity. He urged 
education for all classes and training of the heart as well 
as of the mind as a means of overcoming future ills, 
misunderstandings and national catastrophes. But he 
was not merely a preacher, he was an enactor of his own 
doctrines whose efficacy has been proved by three cen- 
turies of practice. 


12 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Komensky’s most noteworthy contributions to the 
literature and culture of his people and of all nations 
include an elaborate Czech-Latin and Latin-Czech 
dictionary; a versified version of the Psalms in the 
Czech language; “Labyrint Svéta a Raj Srdce” (The 
Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the 
Heart), published in 1631, the predecessor of Bun- 
yan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” giving in exquisite form 
the struggles of man to attain perfect happiness and 
harmony of soul, the work being more distinctly pure 
literature in a technical sense than any of his other 
writings. It was translated into English by Count 
Francis Lutzow in 1905. The “Magna Didactica” 
or Great Didactic was written originally in the 
Czech language and Englished by M. W. Keating. 
In this he lays out a system of education forming 
the basis of all modern progressive plans to-day. 
The “Janua Linguarum Reserata” or Gate of Tongues 
Unlocked simplified the process of learning Latin and 
other tongues. It was written in exile in Poland 
after Komensky like thousands of other non-Catholics 
had been expelled from his native land by the edict of 
1627 directed against the Brethren and was translated 
into twelve European languages and also certain eastern 
tongues as the Persian, Arabian, Turkish, etc. The 
Orbis Sensualium Pictus or the World in Pictures, the 
first illustrated school text-book for children ever pub- 
lished, prepared the way for the magnificent pictorial 
features in educational texts of the present day. 


INTRODUCTION 13 


The “Informatorium Skoly Matérské” gave invaluable 
aid in the rearing of young children in the so-called 
“Mother School.” 

Komensky might have been numbered among the 
educational reformers of our own country for Cotton 
Mather writes of his visit to the famous educator whom 
he invited to become president of the then newly organ- 
ized Harvard College in the American Colonies. For 
some reason Komensky did not accept though his wan- 
derings, after his exile from Bohemia were many and 
varied. His life’s pilgrimage ended in 1670 at Am- 
sterdam where he had lived during the last fourteen 
years of so busy and useful a life of service to education 
that he has been entitled, without challenge, the 
“teacher of nations.” 

After Komensky, there were no great writers in the 
Czech language until the close of the eighteenth cen- 
tury. It must be remembered that every effort was 
made to suppress not only the language of the Czechs 
but to prevent the publication of any work in that 
tongue. The Jesuit, Antonin KoniaS (d. 1760) boasted 
that he alone had destroyed some 60,000 Czech books. 
He published a “Key to Heretical Errors of Doctrine” 
which comprised the names of objectionable religious 
books to be consigned to the flames on sight. 

Those who owned Czech Bibles or other books in the 
language of their fathers, were punished for having 
them in their possession. Hence they took the great- 
est precautions in secreting such volumes as, despite 


14 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


the terror, they were able to treasure and hand down 
from father to son. 


MODERN PERIOD 


RENAISSANCE 


The modern period of Czech and Slovak literature 
divides itself automatically with the history of the 
nation into two natural groupings: 

1. The literature of the national renaissance, from the 
close of the eighteenth century to 1848. This in turn, is 
subdivided into the period of enlightenment (1780- 
1815) and the period of romanticism (1815-1848). 

2. The literature of the revivified nation, from 1848 
to the present day. 

The retrogression, in a national sense, brought about 
by Maria Theresa and Joseph II. in the wholesale in- 
troduction of the German language in place of the ver- 
nacular was counteracted, in a sense, by the truly 
great social, economic and religious reforms which were 
brought about by the enactments: in 1774 of a law or- 
ganizing public schools; in 1775 of the annulment of 
serfdom and of feudalism; in 1781 by the passing of the 
Toleration Patent permitting religious freedom. 

Almost immediately scientific and literary organiza- 
tions and writers sprang up in Bohemia and among the 
Slovaks. The efforts of Joseph II. at centralization in 
the Hapsburg Empire by means of the exclusive use of 
the German without recognition of the language of the 


INTRODUCTION 15 


numerous linguistic groups composing the realm, led 
to political opposition. The voice of the newly awakened 
Czech nation refused to be hushed and the result was the 
re-establishment at the ancient Czech University of 
Prague of a chair of the Czech language and literature, 
by royal decree, on the 28th of October, 1791. Fran- 
tiSek Martin Pelcl was the first professor in charge 
of the work, laying the foundation for national self- 
consciousness among the brightest intellects of the 
land. The significance of the Hapsburg concession of 
1791 is evident to-day in the enlightened and intelli- 
gent national coherence of the Czechoslovaks every 
one of whose responsible leaders in the movement for 
absolute independence were university trained men. 

Joseph Dobrovsky, a member of the Jesuit order, pre- 
pared valuable critical studies of the Czech, Slovak and 
other Slavonic languages dealing with their value as lit- 
erary vehicles without a shadow of chauvinistic ten- 
dency. Indeed, though he rendered inestimable aid by 
his philological studies, he failed to foresee the rich 
literary future for the languages into whose intricacies 
he delved as a scientist. 

The popularization of history, philosophy, of all sci- 
ences and arts and knowledge occupied such men as 
Vaclav Matéj Kramerius, founder of numerous news- 
papers and other periodical publications; Antonin J. 
Puchmajer, writer of many lovely lyrics expressed in 
purest Czech; Antonin Bernol4k, noted Slovak and 
advocate of a separatist policy who chose as the vehicle 


16 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


for his valuable discussions the West-Slovak dialect; 
Vaclav Thiam, author of many popular dramas and 
other plays instrumental in awakening the national 
spirit. 

The romantic period of the renaissance affected not 
only Czech and Slovak literature, but it left its imprint 
on all the arts—on philosophy, religion, the sciences, 
and political, social and moral life. The protest of rich 
imagination, of unfettered freedom in feeling and ex- 
pression against the cold reasoning and polished conven- 
tionality of the eighteenth century found its outlet 
among the Czechs and Slovaks in an enthusiastic ex- 
altation of their nation and language—two concepts 
never separated in the mind of the true patriot of that 
land. 

Gradually the idea of nationality broadened to 
include all that was Slavic. The poetic and prose 
enthusiasts wove beautiful and inspiring tapestries 
with the background of Panslavism but few, in- 
deed, among them carried the idea through, even in 
thought, to a practical platform of mutuality in culture, 
science, industries and politics. The romantic period 
exemplified and enriched the resources of the native 
tongue for lyrical purposes while supplying grammarians 
and philologists with material for scientific national 
expansion. Political progress was prepared for by the 
advancement made in the popularization of historical 
works. Invaluable publications like the Journal of the 
Museum of the Kingdom of Bohemia, the “ Matice 


INTRODUCTION 17 


Ceska” (Mother of Cechia), “Ceské Véela” (Czech 
Bee), “Krok,” “Kvéty Ceské” (Czech Blossoms) and 
“Czechoslav” gathered and presented to the public 
the really worthy writings of that and preceding periods. 

Among the chief writers in this significant era certain 
men are representative. _ 

Prof. Jan Nejedly was the successor of Pelcl in the 
chair of the Czech language and literature at the Uni- 
versity of Prague. Nejedly’s chief service does not rest 
so much in his worthy translations into Czech of the 
Iliad and of modern writings such as Young’s “ Night- 
Thoughts,” but rather in his assembling in his quarterly 
publication “The Czech Herald” all the older authors 
and of practically all the younger exponents of ro- 
manticism. 

Joseph Jungmann, was the composer of the first 
Czech sonnets in which he sang of love, patriotism, 
public events, of the chivalrous deeds of the early 
Czechs, of the ideals of Slav unity. A whole school of 
poets clustered about Jungmann and followed his 
leadership. He translated into richly flowing Czech 
many works of Oliver Goldsmith, Alexander Pope, 
Gray, Goethe, Schiller, Herder, Chateaubriand and Mil- 
ton’s “Paradise Lost.””» A monumental “Dictionary of 
the Czech Language and its Relationships to the other 
Slavic Tongues” is the master work of Jungmann’s life. 
It was the labor of fully thirty-five years and ordina- 
rily would have occupied the time of entire faculties 
of universities. It was published in October, 1834. 


18 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Jan Evangel Purkyné although best known in science 
as a pioneer physiologist especially for his studies of 
the human eye, and as the founder of the laboratory 
method which he formulated as professor of physiology 
at Vratislav and later established in the University of 
Prague in whose medical faculty he served as the most 
prominent European authority for fully twenty years, 
was nevertheless active in a literary way, producing 
many essays, some poems and valuable translations of 
Tasso’s “Jerusalem” and Schiller’s lyrics. 

Jan Kollar, the idol of Slovak literature, after a 
thorough education completed by careful theological 
studies devoted himself to the cause of his people in the 
Protestant church in Budapest which he was called to 
serve and where he remained for thirty years despite 
frequent attacks from both Germans and Magyars. 
His chief bequest to the Czechoslovak people is his col- 
lection of poems entitled “Slavy Dcera”’ (The Daughter 
of Slava). The word “Slava” admits of two interpreta- 
tions—“Glory” and “Slavia,” the allegorical repre- 
sentation of the entire Slavic group just as “Columbia” 
stands for America. In the poems, Kollar addressed 
his inspired sonnets to Slavia in whom are at once 
blended the conceptions of the daughter of the mythical 
goddess of the Slavs and of his sweetheart, Mina. In 
this collection, printed a hundred years ago, Kollar, in 
numerous songs argues for the union of all the Slav 
groups and predicts that vast progressive changes 
and wondrous achievements will be realized by each of 


INTRODUCTION 19 


the Slavic peoples a century hence. He foretells the 
recognition and use of the Czech and other Slavic 
tongues at mighty courts and in palaces where the 
Slav speech shall no longer be a Cinderella as in 
times past. The distinguished feats of his country- 
men on many battlefields in the Great World War 
and the attainment of the independence of the Czecho- 
slovaks as a result, would seem to show Kollar was a 
true prophet as well as a great poet. 

Frantisek Palacky stands foremost among the his- 
torians of Bohemia, his work “ Déjiny Narodu Ceského” 
(History of the Czech Nation) being accepted as abso- 
Jutely authoritative and quoted as such by scholars of 
all nations. Palacky’s previous writings show his wide 
range of culture and knowledge. He founded and edited 
the Journal of the Museum of the Kingdom of Bohemia, 
as well as several other publications significant of the 
spirit of the awakening in Bohemia. His scholarly work 
“The Beginnings of Czech Poetry Especially of Pros- 
ody” mark his early Slavonic inclination. Many 
philosophic and critical essays deal mainly with esthetic 
development. His political writings, particularly his 
discussions of “‘Centralization and National Equality in 
Austria” and “‘The Idea of the Austrian State,” have 
been widely quoted. It was Palacky who in 1848 as- 
serted with the vision of a seer “We existed before 
Austria and we shall exist after there will be no Austria.”’ 

The Slovak writer, Pavel Josef Safatik, is second only 
to Kollar in the affection of his countrymen. He began 


20 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


his literary career ‘as a poet at nineteen when his col- 
lection ‘The Carpathian Muse with a Slavonic Lyre” 
was published. Later, through the assistance of Palacky, 
he removed from Slovakia to Prague devoting himself 
indefatigably to a work of rare quality—‘“Slovanské 
Starozitnosti” (Slavonic Antiquities) in which he 
showed the ancient origin of the Slavs, and proved by 
an enormous number of authoritative documents and 
other evidence their early civilization and culture and 
their linguistic, topographic and historical relationship to 
the members of the Indo-European group of languages. 

Frantisek Ladislav Celakovsky, intended for the 
priesthood like so many Czech literary men, early gave 
up the plan of his parents and devoted himself to 
Slavistic and poetic studies. He had gathered great 
numbers of folk songs, poems and sayings which last 
were eventually included in a collection entitled “Mu- 
droslovi Narodu Slovanského v Piislovich” (The Phi- 
losophy of the Slavic Nation in its Proverbs). His first 
original work was his collection of epics “Ohlasy Pisni 
Ruskych” (Echoes of Russian Songs) which he later 
augmented by his lyrical “Ohlasy Pisni Ceskfch” 
(Echoes of Czech Songs). Palacky regarded this work as 
of equal worth with Kollar’s “Slavy Deera.” 

Karel Jaromir Erben collected a vast quantity of 
folk songs and tales which he wove into delicate and 
beautiful poems. His first collection “Kytice” (The 
Bouquet) by its beauty and harmonious arrangement 
gave earnest of the treasures to come. This collec- 


INTRODUCTION 21 


tion was translated into practically every European 
language. His “Folk and National Songs of the 
Czechs,” were followed by “Sto Prostondrodnich Po- 
hadek a Povésti” (One Hundred Folk Tales and Leg- 
ends) and by the “Vybrané Baje a Povésti Narodni 
Jinych Vétvi Slovanskych” (Selected National Myths 
and Legends of Other Slavic Branches). 

Karel Hynek Macha, the gifted Czech successor 
to the peculiar spirit and genius of Byron, is a 
pioneer in the romantic movement in his country. 
Though he died in his twenty-sixth year, he had given 
incontrovertible evidence of his leadership in this field 
in his lyrics, ballads, and hymns and in his longer pro- 
duction “‘Maj”’ (May) which aroused at once a chorus 
of approval from the Byronic rhapsodists and of stinging 
censure from the critics, who because they did not 
admire his philosophy refused to evaluate properly the 
beauty and perfection of M4cha’s poetic art which did 
not win appreciation until long after his death. Of 
his short stories, the best is “ Ma4rinka,” a daring and 
realistic genre of the proletariat. 

To this period also belong the early dramatists, 
Vaclav Kliment Klicpera (1792-1859) author of a series 
of historical plays and comedies some of which are still 
performed and Josef Kajetan Tyl who early left his 
university studies to organize a traveling theatrical 
company producing only Czech plays. Tyl wrote and 
produced over thirty exceedingly popular plays many 
of which like certain ones of his novels were summarily 


22 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


criticized by Havlitek for an extreme sentimentalism in 
their patriotic teachings. 

In one of his comedies, Tylimserted a poem entitled 
“Where is My Home?” which from the initial presenta- 
tion won instant favor and was adopted as the national 
hymn of the Czechoslovaks. 


WHERE 1S MY HOME? (KDE DOMOV MUJ?) 


Where is my home? 

Where is my home? 
Waters murmur o’er its fair leas, 
Hills are green with rustling fir-trees, 
Flow’rets bright with Spring’s perfumes, 
A Paradise on earth it blooms, 
That’s the land of loveliest beauty 

Cechia, my motherland! 

echia, my motherland! 


Where is my home? 
Where is my home? 
In God’s beloved land are found 
True gentle souls in bodies sound, 
A happy peace which clear minds sow, 
A strength defying warring foe. 
Such are Cechia’s noble children 
*Mongst the Cechs, my motherland! 
*"Mongst the Cechs, my motherland! 


To the present day, Tyl’s “Strakonicky Dudak” (The 
Bagpipe Player of Strakonits) a beautiful fairy drama, 
his “ Paliéova Dcera”’ (The Incendiary’s Daughter) and 
“Ceské Amazonky” (The Czech Amazons) are still 
favorites. 

Prokop ChocholouSek, journalist and correspondent, 
led an adventurous life whose rich and varied experi- 


INTRODUCTION 23 


ences are frequently utilized in his stories. In his col- 
lection of short stories “Jih” (The South), he first 
opened to Prague readers the story lore of the Slavs of 
the Balkans whose struggles for liberty he had witnessed. 

FrantiSek Jaromir RubeS, at first wrote poems of a 
patriotic nature the best being his “J4 jsem Cech” (I 
am a Czech) but his chief contribution to his nation’s 
literature is in his distinctive and deliciously humorous 
stories of the provincials of city and country life. His best 
stories are ‘Pan Amanuensis” (The Amanuensis), “Pan 
Trouba”’ (Mr. Fool) and “Ost¥i Hogi’? (Clever Chaps). 

Ludevitt Stir, a Slovak poet and publicist, did much 
through his essays, poems and stories to defend his 
people against the violent Magyarization practised 
sedulously by the Hungarians. 

Jos. M. Hurban, a Slovak realistic writer, rendered 
invaluable service to his nation not only by his own 
well-conceived and excellently presented stories of his 
people but by the founding of a Slovak review which 
became the repository of the most worthy literary treas- 
ures of the language. 


FROM 1848 TO THE PRESENT DAY 


In the second part of the modern period of the lit- 
erature of the Czechs and Slovaks or that which is 
expressive of the nation after 1848, an impressive host of 
writers appears. In no other equal space of time has a 


Nore.—Ten of the important authors of this period are 
treated in detail in sketches preceding each story, hence 
they are merely mentioned in this summary. 


24 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


nation produced so many literary works of unquestioned 
merit. The revival of letters is complete. Standards are 
established but constantly advanced by the demand 
not only of critics but of the authors themselves and 
their very readers. Critics demand sincerity and depth 
instead of mawkish sentimentalism, forcefulness and 
energy instead of the old time “beautiful resignation” 
or Oblomovesque inertia. 

Karel Havliéek Borovsky undeniably stands foremost 
as intolerant of the patriotism of the lips which never 
reaches the reality of deeds. Just as bitter is he in his 
judgment of authors drifting aimlessly in their work. 
He was in his early youth an intense Russophile thinking 
to attain Slav unity by the submergence of the 
other Slavic dialects. But after a year spent in Russia 
he returned fully cured of the idea. He brought back, 
however, a keen admiration for N. Gogol whose stories 
he translated and a study of whose style made Havlitek 
the best epigramist of his times. His “Pictures 
from Russia” show his keenness of observation and 
clear conception of true democracy. Undertaking the 
editorship of the Prazské Noviny (Prague News) and 
“Ceska Véela” (Czech Bee), he made them the lead- 
ing literary and critical publications, the latter jour- 
nal being universally known as “the conscience of the 
Czech Nation.” He was active politically being a rep- 
resentative to the Vienna parliament in 1848-1849. 
In his Narodni Noviny (National News) which he 
began to publish April 5, 1848, he was the voice of the 


INTRODUCTION 25 


nation which responded as only a politically awakened 
and intelligent national constituency can respond. Un- 
daunted he attacked the great hulking body of the 
Austrian government, reeking with sores and ugly with 
its age-old unfulfilled promises to the nations which 
composed it. He demanded a constitution with full 
political freedom but he was as firm in his denunciation 
of aradical revolution. He urged separation of church 
and state, insisted on full educational opportunities 
for all clasess—in rural districts as well as in cities. 
He rejected Russian paternalism and sympathized with 
the Poles and Southern Slavs. 

His style is simple, clear, direct, forceful. He never 
missed making his point. By the clarity and precision 
of his short incisive sentences, he made it possible for 
the people to follow him in teachings of the most pro- 
gressive and advanced sort. But the Austrian govern- 
ment could not, of course, brook the untrammelled 
presence of a man of Havliéek’s imposing and in- 
spiring personality. His paper was confiscated again 
and again. Journals which he founded elsewhere did 
not long elude the censor. Prosecution and persecu- 
tion followed ultimately. At the end of 1851 Havliéek 
was deported to Brixen in the Tyrol where he con- 
tracted tuberculosis. It was here he wrote his un- 
equalled satires “Tyrolské Elegie” (Tyrol Elegies) 
and “Kral Lavra” (King Lavra). Practically a 
dying man he was permitted to return to his native 
land where he found that in the meantime his wife 


26 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


had died. His own death soon followed on the twenty- 
ninth of August, 1856. 

In the first years of this period Vaclav B. Nebesky 
wrote poetry of a strain whose innate beauty alone 
makes it valuable, to be sure, but whose chief interest 
rests in the fact that it became a sort of standard of 
modern tendencies for all the younger poets as Jan 
Neruda himself acknowledges. He encouraged a whole 
host of young writers as for instance Némcova to earnest 
literary effort. 

Karel Sabina wrote short stories and novels in which 
sociological questions are brought up as in his “Synové 
Svétla” (Sons of Light) which was later published 
under the title “Na PouSti’ (On the Desert) and also 
in his story of political prisoners “Ozivené Hroby”’ 
(Enlivened Graves). He wrote clever librettos for a 
number of popular operas among them Smetana’s 
“Prodana Nevésta” (The Bartered Bride) in which 
the Czech prima donna, Emma Destinnova, has sung 
the leading part in American performances. 

Jan Neruda is usually classed with Vitézslav Halek 
because they were theleaders of the enthusiastic literary 
men of the period—in the main, youths of twenty or 
thereabout who devoted every ounce of energy to their 
muse and their nation. They made the new literature 
reflect their own ideals of social equality, religious lib- 
erty, better advantages and fairer treatment of the 
laboring classes, emancipation of women, free self- 
expression. 








INTRODUCTION 27 


Vitézslay Halek wrote many ballads and lyrics, the 
collections entitled “Veterni Pisné” (Evening Songs) 
and “V P¥irodé” (With Nature) having been models 
for many writers and as much quoted as Longfellow. 
An allegorical represeniation of the struggles of the 
nation in the seventeenth century is his long poem 
“Dédicové Bilé Hory” (Heirs of White Mountain). An 
idyll of the Slovak mountains is his “ Dévée z Tater” 
(The Girl from the Carpathians). His shori stories pre- 
sent some intensely interesting character studies as well 
as plots depending on incident for their interest. 


NOT ANY OF THESE HAVE AS YET BEEN TEANSLATED 
INTO ENGLISH 


Adolf Heyduk stands nearest of kin to the Halek- 
Neruda school in his beautiful lyrics “Ciganské Melo- 
die” (Gypsy Melodies), “Cymbal a Husle” (The Cym- 
bal and Violin) “Piaédi Motivy” (Bird Motives). He 
ever sings of the happy life, of young love, family joys, 
loyalty to the homeland, the beauties of nature espe- 
cially of the Slovak and Sumava mountains. He is 
wholesome and cheerful without ever overstepping into 

Realistic writers arose who would not follow the old 
romantic trend and who depicted more and more of the 
individual home and national problems with a devo- 
tion which was bound to wean the public away from 
the conventional novel of pure sentiment and unreal 
figures. Chief among them was Bozena Némeoova 


28 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


whose nearest rival in the field of the realistic novel is 
another woman—Karolina Svétla. 

Gustav Pfleger Moravsky’s best work is his novel of 
the laboring classes “Z Malého Svéta” (From a Small 
World) which is significant as the first psychological 
study in literature of the struggle of labor with capital 
and the attempt to create a new social order. 

Vaclav V1. Tomek, called “the Historian of Prague,” 
is the successor as an authority in the source method 
as well as of literary style of his distinguished pred- 
ecessor, Frant. Palacky. Antonin Gindely organ- 
ized the Czech archives and drew on them as well 
as on the documentary sources in France, Germany, 
Belgium, Holland and Spain for the material for his 
histories of the period of John Amos Komensky and 
the Bohemian and Moravian Brethren. Joseph Emler 
published hitherto unknown “Original Sources of 
Czech History.” August Sedlaéek’s chief contribu- 
tion is a monumental work on ‘“‘The Castles, Palaces 
and Citadels of the Kingdom of Bohemia,” written 
in interesting literary manner as was also his “ Historic 
Legends and Traditions of the Czech People in Bohemia, 
Moravia and Silesia.”” Dr. Arne Novak, Dr. J. V. 
Novak and J. Vléeh have written extensive and valu- 
able histories of Czech and Slovak literature. 


MODERN DRAMATIC LITERATURE 


Joseph Jifi Kolar (1812-1896) is called the “Father 
of Modern Dramatic Literature” among the Czechs. 


INTRODUCTION 29 


He was the first Czech to translate Shakespeare’s plays 
and to stage them. Numerous translators of the Eng- 
lish bard have appeared at frequent intervals in Bo- 
hemia but Kolar’s poetical adaptations of Hamlet, 
Macbeth, The Taming of the Shrew and The Merchant 
of Venice were the accepted stage versions for many 
decades though his translations of the other Shake- 
spearean dramas failed of as favorable a reception. 
Goethe’s Faust, Goetz von Berlichingen and Egmont 
and Schiller’s trilogy on the life of Wallenstein and his 
“Robbers” also were translated by Kolar. It was later 
that the playwright who was likewise a successful actor 
and director wrote, using the plan of the Shakespearean 
dramas, a series of original plays—namely tragedies and 
historical dramas which have survived the test of time. 
The best are “Kralovna Barbora”? (Queen Barbara), 
“Monika” (Monica), “Prazsky Zid” (The Jew of 
Prague), “Zizkova Smrt” (The Death of Zizka), 
“Mistr Jeronym” (Magister Jerome). 

Frantisek A. Subert, the real organizer of the Czech 
drama, has paid glowing tributes to Klicpera. He has 
written many thoroughly excellent dramas with his- 
torical or semi-historical backgrounds, among them 
“Probuzenci” (The Awakened Ones), “Petr Vok 
Rozmberk,” “Jan Vyrava”’ a five act drama of the 
period of the closing days of feudalism, translated into 
English by Sarka B: Hrbkova. Problems of live social 
and economical interest which are unsolved to-day 
are considered in his “Praktikus” (The Practical 


30 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Man); “Zné” (The Harvest), and “Drama Ctyt 
Chudych Stén”’ (A Drama of Four Poor Walls) trans- 
lated into English by Beatrice Mékota. 

Ladislav Stroupeznicky has written many frequently 
produced realistic comedies as “Pan Mésiéek,” “‘ Pani 
Minemistrova”’ (The Mintmaster’s Wife), “Nasi Furi- 
anti” (Our Braggarts). 

M. A. Simaéek sketches some interesting factory 
types in his studies of the sugar-beet industry which he 
also uses in his plays. 

Gabriella Preissova brought the Slovenes of Carinthia 
into Czech and Slovak literature and is the author of the 
delightful ‘““Obrazky ze Slovacka”’ (Pictures from Slo- 
vakia) as well as of very successful Slovak plays 
“Gazdina Roba” and “Jeji Pastorkyia’’ (Her Step- 
daughter). 

Joseph Stolba has written ten plays chiefly comedies 
which continue to win audiences as well as readers. 

Jaroslav Kvapil is at once a lyric poet uniting gentle, 
deep emotion with form that is distinctly pleasing. His 
best collections are “Padajici Hvézdy”’ (Falling Stars) 
and “Rizovy Ket” (The Rose Bush). He has written 
successful dramas as: “Oblaka”’ (The Clouds) trans- 
lated into Russian and German, and into English by 
Charles Recht; “Bluditéka” (The Will o’ the Wisp) 
English translated by Sarka B. Hrbkova; the fairy plays 
“Princezna Pampeliska”’ (Princess Dandelion) and 
“Sirotek” (The Orphan) suggest somewhat the in- 
fluence of Maeterlinck. He has translated into Czech 


INTRODUCTION 31 


several of Ibsen’s plays in which his wonderfully 
talented wife, the celebrated actress Hana Kvapilova, 
played the leading réle. 

Alois and Vilém Mr8tik, two brothers, collaborated in 
the collection of stories called “ Bavinkovy Zeny” (The 
Cotton Women) and in the play ‘“MarySa” though 
the former wrote independently many lovely stories of 
the Slovaks in the Carpathian region and the latter 
many naturalistic tales. 

Karel Pippich has written one valuable drama, 
“Slavomam” (The Greed for Glory), and some 
comedies. 


COSMOPOLITANISM OF CZECH LITERATURE 


~The cosmopolitanism of modern Czech literature is 
apparent in many prodigiously industrious writers not 
only active in their translations from foreign literatures 
but remarkable for their output of thoroughly good 
original matter—poems, novels, dramas and_ short 
stories. These writers through travel and wide read- 
ing in the literatures of other lands have imbibed the 
spirit of those countries which they present in literary 
masterpieces. The Czechs and Slovaks no longer are 
content to be provincial, the local traditions do not 
suffice. The themes which other nations admire they 
examine and discuss through the means afforded by 
their own gifted literary interpreters. 
Joseph V. Sladek was one of the first Czech literary 
men to visit America. As a youth of twenty-four who 


32 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


had just finished his philosophical and scientific studies 
in Prague, he came to the United States, remaining here 
for two impressionable years, the spirit of which is 
clearly discernible in many of his best poems particu- 
larly his lyrics and sonnets of which several volumes 
were published. Sladek’s stay in America had another 
result and that was the translation of Longfellow’s “The 
Song of Hiawatha” as well as of many single poems 
by individual American poets. He also translated Bret 
Harte’s “California Stories” and Aldrich’s “Tragedy 
of Stillwater” both of which proved very popular among 
Czech readers. Sladek made translations of “ Frithiof”’ 
by the Swedish poet Tegner, the romance “Pepita 
Ximenes” from the Spanish of J. Valera, ‘Conrad 
Wallenrod” from the Polish of A. Mickiewicz, the 
“Hebrew Melodies” of Byron, ballads of Robert 
Burns and poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

Julius Zeyer (1841-1901) though excelling as a lyric 
and epic poet has to his credit many volumes of suc- 
cessful novels, short stories, and dramas the subjects 
of most of which are culled from other than home fields. 
In his travels which included frequent trips to Russia, 
Vienna, Germany, Paris, Switzerland, Sweden, Italy, 
Greece, Constantinople, Spain, the Tyrol, Styria, Car- 
niola, Croatia, the Crimea, he gathered impressions and 
motives which were later woven into his poems and 
stories. Thus in his lyric “Igor” and his novels “Da- 
rija’”” and “Ond#ej CernySev”” (Andrew CernySev) there 
is a clear echo of months spent in Russia; in his 


INTRODUCTION 33 


“Blanka” (Blanche) an intimation of troubadour days 
in the Provence; in the love of “Olgerd Gejstor” 
for the Czech Queen Anne, there is the distinctive 
Lithuanian background; the romance “Gabriel de 
Espinos” and the tragedy of “Dona Sancha”’ evince 
the Spanish influence; in “Ghismonda’”’ and more 
clearly in his semi-autobiographical novel “Jan 
Marya Plojhar” appears the Italian influence; the 
novel “Dim u Tonouci Hvézdy” (The House of the 
Waning Star) is the consequence of his sojourn in 
France; in the “Chronicles of Saint Brandon’”’ and 
“The Return of Ossian” his Irish studies are evident. 
Just as faithful is he in giving the Czech and Slovak 
atmosphere as for instance in “Raduz a Mahulena,” 
a fairy tale of the Slovak region, “Neklan” and 
“WVySehrad” of the pagan Czech period, “Duhovy 
Ptak” (The Rainbow Bird) a novel of modern Bohemia. 
- Jaroslav Vrchlicky (Emil Frida) the most prolific and 
versatile writer of the nation, deserves to be named like- 
wise its greatest cosmopolite. Thoroughly travelled and 
with deep knowledge of all ancient and modern civiliza- 
tions to which he gives expression in his works, he fully 
deserves the title. His original poems alone fill sixty- 
four generous volumes, his prose tales, novels and 
dramas are represented in some twenty or more vol- 
umes, not to speak of his valuable critical and literary 
essays of which there are at least a dozen volumes. To 
these must be added an immense number of unparal- 
leled translations from the literatures of practically all 


34 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


cultured nations, ancient and modern, and then only 
cana fair conception be had of the marvellous labors and 
the unequalled significance to Czech literature of this 
indefatigable individual, who has created more real 
literature than is contributed ordinarily by an entire 
generation of writers. 

The immensity of the task of a review of this author’s 
activity is apparent. Only. the mention of a few of his 
achievements is possible. His “Zlomky Epopeje”’ 
(Fragments of an Epopee) represents the attempt of the 
author to trace through ballads, romances, legends and 
myths the development of man from the beginning to 
the present time, the whole permeated with his own 
peculiar philosophy of history which insists on the tri- 
umph of man over matter and of self-sacrificing love over 
all other human manifestations. The “Bar Kochba” 
is a magnificent epic of the desperate and _heart- 
breaking struggle of the Jews against Rome. His 
“Legenda Sv. Prokopa” (Legend of St. Procopius) 
employs Czech historical material exclusively. Of 
five volumes of sonnets, the most popular has been 
the collection “Sonnets of a Recluse.” Many of 
his twenty-four books of lyrics have gone into several 
editions. Among them are “Rok na Jihu” (A Year 
in the South); “‘Motyli VSech Barev”’ (Butterflies of 
all Tints) “Na Domaci Pidé” (On Home Soil), 
**Pavuéiny”? (Cobwebs) and “‘Kytky Aster” (Bou- 
quets of Asters). Of the volumes devoted to the philo- 
sophic contemplation of the basic facts of life, love and 


INTRODUCTION 35 


death, the best are his “‘Pisné Poutnika” (Songs of a 
Pilgrim), “Vittoria Colonna” “Pantheon,” “Bodlaéi 
z Parnassu” (Thistles from Parnassus) and “Ja Nechal 
Svét Jit Kolem” (I Let the World Pass By). 

Vrehlicky’s best dramas depict characters and events 
of ancient times with Czech, Greek, Roman, Spanish, 
Italian, English or pure mythological backgrounds. 
The list includes twenty-eight plays—chiefly dramas or 
tragedies practically every one of which has been pro- 
duced. A number of these have been translated into 
English. 

Of four collections of short stories the most suc- 
cessful has been the “ Barevné St¥epy” (Colored Frag- 
ments). “Studies of Czech Poets” is a most valuable 
and elaborate work as are also his critical essays on 
Modern French poets dealing mainly with the school of 
Victor Hugo of whom he was a great admirer. 

Through his truly amazing diligence in translation, 
Vrehlicky opened to the Czech reading public new 
worlds of literature, his aim being to interest espe- 
cially the younger generation in the rich treasures of 
all nations. His superior genius made it possible to 
give the precious lore of other times and other lands 
a thoroughly artistic rendering in his mother tongue 
in which he has been acknowledged master by all the 
critics of his day. 

One stands aghast at the mere linguistic knowledge 
necessary to comprehend the delicate intricacies of the 
poetic lore of the French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, 


——— 


36 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


English, German, Polish, Magyar, Scandinavian and 
even Chinese without even speaking of his rare ability 
in presenting in beautiful Czech equivalent the spirit 
and content of the authors translated. He showed most 
conclusively the rich possibilities of his native tongue 
as a vehicle for the noblest of thoughts and technically 
for the transference of the most difficult rhymes and 
meters in modern European literature. 

Victor Hugo, Leconte de Lisle, Corneille, Moliére, 
Beaudelaire, Dumas, France, Maupassant, Balzac, 
Rostand, Petrarch, Dante, Ariosto, Tasso, Michel- 
angelo, Parini, Leopardi, Carducci, Gracosa, Anno 
Vivanti, Cannizzaro, Camoens, Echegaray, Verdaguer, 
Mickiewicz, Arany, Petofi, Hafiz, Shi King, Byron, 
Swinburne, Browning, Shelley, Tennyson, Whitman, 
Poe, Schiller, Goethe, Hamerling, Ibsen, Andersen— 
the masterpieces of all these were worthily made 
known to his countrymen through the untiring energy 
of Yrchlicky. 

While Vrchlicky is now more fully appreciated in his 
own land, he has not escaped criticism which at times 
has been bitterly harsh, especially in the °70’s when 
it was thought he should choose subjects oftener from 
the history of the Czech nation. Then, too, as the orig- 
inator of such vast stores of literature, it is not a matter 
of wonder that the critics charged him with technical 
and formal errors, with banalities and improvisations. 
Yet withal Vrchlicky stands as a master among masters, 
who was slave to no school, who felt the deepest, most 


INTRODUCTION 37 


fundamental manifestations of life and expressed them 
clearly, forcefully, beautifully without the dimming 
mask of rhetorical flourish. 

The Vrchlicky schools of writers imitate him in his 
technical verse construction and echo his thoughts 
of deep-seated world sorrow, wide sympathy for his 
fellow-men, longing for the moral and social regenera- 
tion of mankind, the hope of ultimate freedom from 
the existent destructive religious scepticism. 

Among later poetic translators from the English is 
Antonin Klastersky who first acquainted his country- 
men with the poems of John Hay, Bryant, Lowell, Lee 
Hamilton, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Oscar Wilde, 
Joaquin Miller, Sidney Lanier, Stedman. 

Eliska Krasnohorsk&é whose real name is Eligka 
Pechovaé became a leader of her sex from the time, in 
1870, when she entered literature in her twenty-third 
year. In 1875 she founded and has continued to serve 
as editor of the “‘Zenské Listy” (Woman’s Journal). 
She organized the “Minerva” society which in 1890 
founded an advanced school for women students. As 
the guiding spirit of the Women’s Industrial Society 
organized by Caroline Svétla she has, as has BoZena 
Kunétické in a degree, rendered unmeasured service to 
the practical cause of women. These activities have 
lent their spirit to her literary productions, especially 
her poems which are full of the urge to practical, sub- 
stantial patriotism, of appeal to aid the cause of the 
Balkan Slavs or other isolated Slavic groups or to recog- 


38 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


nize the just aspirations of her own sex. She never 
rhapsodizes without effect and her feelings, sounding 
deep and ringing true, are ever purposeful. The best 
collections are “Na Zivé Struné” (On a Living String), 
“Viny v Proudu” (Waves in the Current), “K Slo- 
vanskému Jihu” (To the Slavonic South) “Letorosty” 
(Sprigs) and “‘Povidky” (Stories). 

She wrote unusually clever librettos for Smetana’s 
operas ““Hubitka”’ (The Kiss) and “‘Tajemstvi” (The 
Secret), for Zdének Fibich’s “Blanik”’ (Mount Blanik) 
and for Bendl’s “Lejla” and “Karel Skréta.” Her 
translations were chiefly from Alex. PuSskin (Boris 
Godunov) and Selected Poems, Hamerling (King of 
Zion) Lord Byron (Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage), 
Adam Mickiewicz (Pan Tadeusz). 

She has produced great numbers of stories for children 
and sketches and novels appearing in women’s maga- 
zines though by'no means limited to that sex for readers. 


BOOKS OF SCIENCE 


Valuable books of travel and discovery have been 
written by numerous Czech explorers and “globe- 
trotters.”” Among them are: Joseph Kofensky who 
wrote “A Trip Around the World”; Ji#i Guth, “A 
Causerie of Travel” digesting in many volumes the 
philosophy of the nations visited; Dr. Emil Holub, 
who explored South Africa and wrote several volumes 
on his numerous trips; Pavel Durdik who with won- 
derful interest discussed his “Five Years in Sumatra.” 


INTRODUCTION 39 


Dr. Jan Gebauer wrote many invaluable philological 
works and as an authority was ranged on the side op- 
posing the authenticity of the famous Queen’s Court 
Manuscripts. 

Dr. Fr. Drtina professor of pedagogy and Dr. Fr. 
Krejéi professor of psychology of the faculty of the 
University of Prague are like Prof. Masaryk, of the 
positivist school and have written valuable philosoph- 
ical discussions on the subjects of their life study as 


has also Prof. Fr. Cada, likewise a philosopher. 


HISTORICAL NOVELISTS 


Undoubtedly the foremost figure in this group is 
Alois Jirasek who has devoted himself exclusively to the 
rich material offered by the aspirations and struggles of 
his native land. Tiebizsky and Winter have been only 
a little less active in this field. 

Vaclav Benes Tiebizsky, completed the theological 
course in Prague, was ordained in 1875 and served as 
chaplain from that time until his death. Most of his 
works are shorter than novels, of which the best 
are his “Anezka P¥emyslovna”’ a story of the era of 
Vaclav I.; “Kralovna Dagmar” (Queen Dagmar) 
“Trnova Koruna” (‘The Crown of Thorns) of the period 
of the Thirty Years’ War and “Bludné Due” (Lost 
Souls) descriptive of the religious strife during the reign 
of Joseph II. Many collections of his stirring short 
stories, some ninety in all, based on the events in Czech 
history appear under the titles “Pod DoSskovymi 


40 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Stiechami’’ (Under Thatched Roofs) “V Zaii Kalicha” 
(In the Glow of the Chalice) and “Z Rizn¥ch Dob” 
(From Various Epochs). His engaging and attractive 
style, the genuineness of his sympathy with his subjects 
unite in making his works popular for readers of all ages. 

Zikmund Winter as professor of history had ample 
opportunity to collect interesting and valuable material 
but his decision to use it in literature came in later 
years when he vividly reconstructed early Prague life 
from the documents and archives at his disposal, 
weaving vigorous characters into the ancient atmos- 
phere. His more noteworthy collections are “Rakoy- 
nické Obrazky” (Pictures from Rakovnik) “ Prazské 
Obrazky” (Prague Pictures), “‘Miniatury” (Minia- 
tures) and “Mister Kampanus” (Magister Kampanus) 
a pretentious story of student life of the period suc- 
ceeding the Battle of White Mountain which i. re- 
gards from a partisan viewpoint. 


SHORT STORIES 


A group of writers arose after Neruda who carried to 
extremes his declaration that brief genre pictures rep- 
resenting small segments of contemporary life with de- 
votion to every-day detail and with a lively sense for 
character outline could form an eventual channel for 
realistic story telling. The result was an almost slavish 
adherence to insignificant trivialities and a parceling 
out, among the story writers, of specialized fields of 
‘“proficience”’ forgetting form and real substance for 


INTRODUCTION 41 


fidelity to detail. Then, too, a class of writers arose who 
consistently surrendered themselves to “temperament” 
refusing to recognize any law of utilitarianism, or tech- 
nical form. The middle-of-the-road writers followed the 
spirit of Neruda’s teaching and renounced the policy of 
the pure estheticians. 

In the new period were the following writers: Franti- 
Sek Herites, character delineator in his “Z mého Her- 
ba¥e”’? (From My Herbarium) and “Tajemstvi Stryce 
Josefa” (Uncle Joseph’s Secret). 

Jakub Arbes wrote stories of mysterious or misan- 
thropic, fantastic characters, but endowed them with 
his own world views. His best stories are ““Dabel na 
Skfipci” (The Devil on the Rack), “‘Ethiopska Lilie” 
(The Ethiopian Lily), “Newtoniv Mozek” (Newton’s 
Brain) “Svaty Xavier’? (Saint Xavier). 

Sofie Podlipské, a sister of the famous Karolina 
Svétla, was likewise active though her work was mainly 
in juvenile and feministic literature. 

Alois Vojtéch Smilovsky, another realist, has painted 
some small town, moralist, and old world types which 
he has blended into rather attractive romantic settings. 
His “Nebesa”’ (Heavens) has been translated. Other 
very good short stories are in the extensive collections 
published between 1871 and 1896. 

Jan Herben often in humorous vein yet with a world 
of sympathy delineates Slovak peasant life. Karel V. 
Rais, poet and popular short story writer, depicts 
the conditions of life among the mountaineers and 


42 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


villagers in simple but appealing tales. Joseph Holetek 
an advocate of unity with South Slavonic culture and 
an opponent of all contact with Germanism, is author 
of “Hercegovinian Songs,” “Serbian National Epics,” 
“Montenegro.” Teréza Novakova represents the 
cause of her sex in many public movements and in her 
books details the sorrowful fate of women who seek 
moral self-determination in the midst of a social system 
that simply does not understand. Karel Klostermann 
is the novelist and story teller of the glass-blowers, 
woodmen, poachers, and lumbermen of the border re- 
gions. Bohumil Havlasa presents fantastic adventures, 
exotic experiences. Jan Havlasa, son of Jan Klecanda, 
after several years spent in the United States wrote some 
interesting “California Stories.” Jos. K. Slejhar un- 
covers in the so-called “best families” a world of petty 
tyrannies, cruelties and bestialities practised by those 
wearing the cloak of respectability. Jifi Kardsek 
writes of decadence and occultism. RizZena Svobodova 
exposes in her masterful and well-nigh scientific manner 
the frailties and gnawing sores of each social stratum 
and turns the light on the pitiable condition of so 
many women who, ignorant of their own purpose in 
life, live in hopeless dreams until, spiritually famished, 
they perish in their own illusions, amid the joyless 
drab of life. Martin Kukuéin, the leading Slovak 
realist, in addition to portraying his own people as 
he knew them has presented intimate views of the 
Croatian and Serbian peasantry. Svetozdr Hurban 


INTRODUCTION 43 


Vajansky is a Slovak writer, ten volumes of whose 
poems, short stories and novels have been published 
in Sv. Martin. 

Among poets of high order who expressed the most 
advanced spiritual interests in the present day stands 
a trio headed by Joseph S. Machar with Otakar Biéezina 
the chief symbolist and lyric visionary and Antonin 
Sova ever seeking psychological bases and portraying 
some crisis of the soul. P. Selver, an English poet, and 
O. Kotoué, an American have translated many typical 
lyrics by this trio. 

Viktor Dyk has written numerous poems in a scepti- 
eal, satirical vein and is also the author of some in- 
cisive short stories and dramas. Petr Bezrué whose 
real name is Vladimir VaSek “first bard of Beskyd,” 
~ is unqualifiedly the true singer of Silesia whose bitter 
fate of denationalization at the hands of the Germans 
and Poles he lamented in lyrical lines inspiring his 
brother Czechs over the border to render what aid 
they could before submergence was complete. 

No review of Czech and Slovak literature could be 
counted complete if it omitted Thomas G. Masaryk. 
The man who to-day is president of the newly created 
Czechoslovak Republic has been a leader of thought in 
his native land for nearly two decades. Born March 7, 
1850, in Hodonin, Moravia, of a Slovak father and 
Moravian “ Hanik” mother, he had all the experiences 
incident to laboring families of insufficient means, 
before he finished the gymnasium in Brno and his 


41 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


philosophical studies at Vienna. He traveled in Ger- 
many and Russia and upon his return was named a 
member of the faculty of the University of Prague in 
1882, attaining the rank of a full professorship in 1896. In 
1902 and again in 1907 he visited the United States of 
America from which country he chose his bride, Miss 
Alice Garrigue of Boston. He took an active part in 
politics as early as 1891 from which time he was a 
representative, at intervals, of his country at the 
Vienna parliament. When Austria-Hungary declared 
war in July 1914, Prof. Masaryk raised his voice 
against the ultimatum delivered to Serbia. Because 
it was everywhere known that Prof. Masaryk had al- 
ready exposed forgeries on the part of Austrian govern- 
ment agents in previous attempts to foment trouble 
with the Balkan Slav states, and because Masaryk was 
the acknowledged leader of his people, he was imme- 
diately a man marked for imprisonment and even 
execution by the Hapsburg government. However, the 
story of Prof. Masaryk’s escape to Switzerland and then 
his journey to the courts and leading ministries of Eng- 
land, France, Russia, and the United States to present 
the case for independence of the Czechoslovaks and the 
record of how the tens of thousands of his soldier coun- 
trymen conducted a campaign of separatism from 
Austria-Hungary though far distant from their home- 
land, as was their leader also, is now a matter of history. 
It suffices that all maps of Europe will now bear the 
name of the free and independent government of 


INTRODUCTION 45 


Czechoslovakia—and that the united action of a 
thoroughly capable leader and a trained and _intelli- 
gent nation achieved the consummation of the national 
aspirations of centuries. 

Prof. Masaryk’s contributions to the literature of his 
country began in 1876 with an article on “Theory and 
Practice,” his first philosophical essay being “Plato 
Jako Vlastenec” (Plato as a Patriot) published the fol- 
lowing year. 

A division took place in the university faculty rela- 
tive to the methods of philosophy—whether it should 
be critical or encyclopedic. The first party contended 
that the work of the Czech scientists should be severely 
judged according to the strictest foreign standards. The 
others urged the systematization of all knowledge and its 
popularization. Thomas Masaryk solved the question 
for himself and followers by establishing a scientific- 
critical journal, the Athenzeum (1883) and by planning 
the collecting of all known knowledge to be em- 
braced in the monumental “Ottiv Nautény Slovnik”’ 
(Otto Encyclopedia). This encyclopedia up to 1910 had 
published over 150,000 titles on 28,912 pages and had 
employed 1100 literary co-workers. 

Three branches of practical philosophy interested 
Masaryk chiefly: sociology, the philosophy of history 
and the philosophy of religion. To the period of study 
of these subjects belong his briefer psychological discus- 
sions: “Hypnotism” (1880), “‘ Blaise Pascal” (1883), 
“A Theory of History According to the Principles of 


46 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


T. H. Buckle” (1884), “Slavonic Studies” (1889), “The 
Fundamentals of Concrete Logic” (1885). 

When the struggle to revive and renew Czech cultural 
life became the most critical, Masaryk presented a series 
of analytic studies of Bohemia’s literary and political 
revival. These are widely published and read in America 
also and included his “Karel Havlitek” (1896), “Jan 
Hus—Na&Se Obrozeni a NaSe Reformace”’ (Jan Hus— 
Our Renaissance and Our Reformation) (1896), “Ceska 
Otazka” (The Czech Question) (1895), “‘NaSe Nynéjii 
Krise”” (Our Present Crisis) (1895). His “Otazka 
Socialni”” (The Socialist Problem) analyzes and ap- 
praises Marx and his principles. “V Boji o Nabo- 
zenstvi” (The Struggle of Religion), “MnohoZenstvi a 
Jednozenstvi” (Polygamy and Monogamy) (1902), “V - 
Boji Proti Alkoholismu” (The Fight Against Alco- 
holism) (1908), “Ceska Filosofie” (Czech Philosophy) 
(1912), all contain the ripe judgment of a man who 
had thoroughly digested the problems discussed. 

In each article and book Masaryk’s remarkable per- 
sonality stands forth in his determination, first, to 
wholly emancipate the Czechs from the German 
philosophy, accomplishing this by supplanting Kant 
with Hume, Herbart with English psychology, not 
merely by interpretation but by a critical reorganization 
into which his own ethical and religious convictions 
entered; second, by bringing philosophy down from a 
plane of mere theory to become the first aid in all 
sciences, arts, religion and every-day life so that the 


INTRODUCTION 47 


actions of the nation and of the individuals composing 
it would intelligently, systematically and purposefully 
lead to a definite goal. In his “Czech Philosophy” 
Masaryk wrote in 1912 “Pure Humanity, signifying 
the only genuine brotherhood is the ideal of the Czech 
renaissance and represents the national program as 
handed down from early generations of Czech leaders. 
The Czech ideal of humanity—the Czech ideal of 
Brotherhood must become the leading thought of 
all mankind.”—Thus, through great teachers a nation 
of earnest students has been trained to effectively 
carry out a great idea in the practical school of world 
politics and statesmanship. 
Reading maketh a full man. 


i : . ae? 4 ‘ 

y ! WW ase . ~ 
” a La ae 

Ue HERA eens nee 


' f aia Ke 
a st aa ect Ga hile Lae 





CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 
49-50 





SVATOPLUK CECH 


(Born February 21, 1846, in Ostéedek near BeneSov. 
Died February 23, 1908.) 


SvaTopLuk Crcu was the son of a government official, 
and thus spent his youth in various parts of his native 
land, attending schools in Postupice, Liten, Vrany, 
Litoméfice and Prague, securing his degree in the 
Piaristic Gymnasium in 1865. Later, he studied law, 
though as a Gymnasium student he had already entered 
the field of literary effort, using the pseudonym 
“S. Rak.” Eventually he became editor successively 
of several of the leading Czech literary journals. His 
best works appeared in the “Kvéty”’’ (Blossoms), a 
magazine which he and his brother, Vladimir, estab- 
lished in 1878. 

Cech traveled extensively in Moravia, Poland, the 
Ukraine, around the Black Sea, Constantinople, in the 
Caucasus, Asia Minor, Denmark, France and England. 
Each of these journeys bore literary fruit. 

While Cech is unquestionably the greatest epic poet 
of the Czechoslovaks and by some critics is ranked as 
the leading modern epic poet of Europe, some of his 
shorter prose writings are also notable as examples of 


enduring literature. 
51 


52 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Cech’s title to superlative distinction in the field of 
poetry is earned through the following works which 
discuss broad humanitarian, religious and_ political 
questions with democratic solutions in each case. 
“Adamité” (The Adamites) is an epic of the Refor- 
mation describing the rise and fall of this peculiar 
religious sect. “Boure” (Tempests) and “Sny” 
(Dreams) are in the Byronic manner. “Cerkes” is 
a picture of the life of a Czech immigrant in the 
Caucasus. “Evropa’’ (Europe) studies the forces 
disintegrating ancient Europe. “Ve Stinu Lipu” (In 
the Shade of the Linden Tree) depicts with rich 
touches of delicate humor such types as the simple 
peasant, the upstart tailor-politician, the portly miller, 
the one-legged soldier and others, each relating ex- 
periences of his youth, a veritable Czech “Canterbury 
Tales.” In “Vaclav z Michalovic” he presents a 
sorrowful epic of the gray days after the Battle of 
White Mountain. “Slavie’ is a truly Utopian 
picture of Panslavism. “Dagmar” unites the threads 
binding Czech with Danish history. “LeSetinsky 
Kovat” (The Blacksmith of LeSetin), a distinctively 
nationalistic poem, dramatically portrays the struggles 
of the Czechs against the insidious methods of 
Germanization. This poem was suppressed in 1883 
and not released until 1899, being again prohibited 
after August, 1914, by the Austrian government. 
Portions of this vividly genuine picture have been 
translated into English by Jeffrey D. UHrbek. 


SVATOPLUK CECH 53 


“Petrklite” and “Hanuman” are collections of lovely 
fairy tales and plays in Cech’s most delightful verse. 
“Modlitby k Neznamému”’ (Prayers to the Unknown) 
is a series of meditations in pantheistic vein on the 
mysteries of the universe. “‘Zpévnik Jana Buriana” 
(The Song Book of Jan Burian) solves monarchistic 
tendency with the one true answer — democracy. 
“Pjsné Otroka’”’ (Songs of a Slave), of which some 
fifty editions have been published, not only in Bohemia, 
but in the United States as well, represent, through 
the symbolism of oriental slavery, the modern bond- 
men who are in mental, moral, political and in- 
dustrial subjection. 

Of his larger prose works, the novels “Kandidat 
Nesmrtelnosti” (A Candidate for Immortality) and 
“Tkaros” are best known, but humor and satire, to- 
gether with genuine story-telling ability, hold the 
reader far more tensely in his delicious “Vylet Pané 
Broutkiv do Mésice” (Mr. Brouéek’s Trip to the 
Moon) and in his ten or twelve collections of short 
stories, arabesques and travel sketches. The story 
“Foltyn’s Drum” is selected from Cech’s “Fourth 
Book of Stories and Arabesques.” 





FOLTYN’S DRUM 


BY SVATOPLUK CECH 


Otp Foltyn hung on his shoulder his huge drum, 
venerable relic of glorious patriarchal ages, and went 
out in front of the castle. It seemed as if indulgent a 
time had spared the drummer for the sake of the 

drum. The tall, bony figure of Foltyn—standing in 

erect perpendicularity in soldier fashion, wrapped in a 

sort of uhlan cape, with a face folded in numberless A 
furrows, in which, however, traces of fresh color and i 
bright blue eyes preserved a youthful appearance, with 
a bristly gray beard and gray stubble on his double 
chin, a broad sear on his forehead, and a dignified 
uniformity in every motion—was the living remnant 
of the former splendor of the nobility. 

Old Foltyn was the gate-keeper at the castle, an 
honor which was an inheritance in the Foltyn family. 
As in the Middle Ages, vassal families devoted them- 
selves exclusively to the service of their ruler, so the: — 
Foltyn family for many generations had limited it 
ambitions to the rank of gate-keepers, stev 
ary-masters, herdsmen and game-wardens 
of the noble proprietors of the castle. 


member of the family had become a 
55 


i 










56 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


of the former masters and thereby the boast and proud 
memory of his numerous kinsmen. 

Well then, old Foltyn stepped forth with his drum 
before the castle, to all appearances as if he wished to 
drum forth the mayor and the councilmen to some 
exceedingly important official duty, but in truth, alas, 
to noisefully assemble an army of old women to their 
work on the noble domain. 

He slightly inclined his head and swung the sticks 
over the ancient drum. But what was that? After 
several promising beginnings he suddenly concluded 
his performance by a faint tap. I am convinced that 
many an old woman, hearing that single indistinct 
sound, dropped her spoon in amazement and pricked 
up her ears. When that mysterious sound was followed 
by no other she doubtless threw a shawl over her gray 
braids and running to the cottage across the way, met 
its occupant and read on her lips the same question 
her own were forming: “What happened to old 
Foltyn that he finished his afternoon artistic per- 
formance with such an unheard of turn?” 

It happened thus: If you had stood in Foltyn’ s 
place at the stated moment and if you had had 
his falcon eyes you would have descried beyond the 
wood at the turn of the wagon-road some sort of 
dark object which with magic swiftness approached 
the village. Later you would have distinguished a 
pair of horses and a carriage of a type never before 
seen in those regions. 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 57 


When the gate-keeper had arrived at this result of 
his observation, he recovered suddenly from the ab- 
solute petrifaction into which he had been bewitched 
by the appearance of the object and raced as fast 
as his legs would allow back to the castle. 

BeruSka, the steward’s assistant, was just bidding 
a painful farewell to a beautiful cut of the roast over 
which the fork of his chief was ominously hovering 
when Foltyn with his drum burst into the room with- 
out even rapping. He presented a remarkable appear- 
ance. He was as white as chalk, his eyes were staring 
blankly, on his forehead were beads of sweat, while 
he moved his lips dumbly and waved his drumstick 
in the air. With astonishment all turned from the 
table toward him and were terrified in advance at 
the news whose dreadful import was clearly manifested 
in the features of the old man. 

“The nob—nobility!”’ he stuttered after a while. 

“Wh—what?” burst forth the steward, dropping his 
fork on the plate. 

“The nobility—beyond the wood—’ answered 
Foltyn with terrible earnestness. 

The steward leaped from his place at. the table, 
seized his Sunday coat and began, in his confusion, 
to draw it on over his striped dressing-gown. His wife, 
for some unaccountable reason, began to collect the 
silver from the table. Miss Melanie swished as she 
fled across the room. Beruska alone stood unmoved, 
looking with quiet satisfaction at his chief, whom 


58 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Nemesis had suddenly overtaken at his customary 
culling of the choicest pieces of the roast. 

In order to interpret these events I must explain 
that our castle, possibly for its distance and lack of 
conveniences, was very little in favor with its pro- 
prietors. From the period of the now deceased old 
master, who sojourned here a short time before his 
death, it had not beheld a single member of the noble 
family within its weatherbeaten walls. The rooms on 
the first floor, reserved for the nobility, were filled with 
superfluous luxury. The spiders, their only occupants, 
let themselves down on fine threads from the glitter- 
ingly colored ceilings to the soft carpets and wove their 
delicate webs around the ornamentally carved arms of 
chairs, upholstered in velvet. The officials and ser- 
vants in the castle knew their masters only by hear- 
say. They painted them as they could, with ideal 
colors, to be sure. From letters, from various rumors 
carried from one manor to the next, from imagination, 
they put together pictures of all these personages who, 
from a distance, like gods, with invisible hands reached 
out and controlled their destinies. In clear outlines 
there appeared the images of barons, baronesses, the 
young baronets and sisters, the maids, nurses, the 
wrinkled, bewigged proctor, the English governess 
with a sharp nose, the fat footman, and the peculiar- 
ities of each were known to them to the minutest 
detail. But to behold these constant objects of their 
dreams and discussions, these ideals of theirs, face 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 59 


to face, was for them a prospect at once blinding and 
terrifying. 

In the castle, feverish excitement reigned. From 
the upper rooms echoed the creaking of folding-doors, 
the noise of furniture being pushed hither and thither, 
the whisking of brooms and brushes. The steward’s 
wife ran about the courtyard from the chicken house to 
the stables without a definite purpose. The steward 
hunted up various keys and day-books and charged 
the blame for all the disorder on the head of BeruSka, 
who, suspecting nothing, was just then in the office, 
rubbing perfumed oil on his blond hair. Old Foltyn 
stood erect in the driveway with his drum swung from 
his shoulder, every muscle in his face twitching vio- 
lently as he extended his hand with the drumstick in 
the direction of the approaching carriage as if, like 
Joshua of old, he execrated it, commanding it to tarry 
in the village until all was in readiness. Through his 
old brain there flashed visions of splendidly orna- 
mented portals, maids of honor, schoolboys, an address 
of welcome, flowers on the pathway. ... But the 
carriage did not pause. With the speed of the wind 
it approached the castle. One could already see on the 
road from the village the handsome bays with flowing, 
bright manes and the liveried coachman glittering 
on the box. A blue-gray cloud of dust arose above 
the carriage and enveloped a group of gaping children 
along the wayside. Hardly had Foltyn stepped aside 
a little and doffed his shaggy cap, hardly had the 


60 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


soft white silhouette of Melanie disappeared in the 
ground-floor window, when the eminent visitors 
rattled into the driveway. 

In the carriage sat a gentleman and a lady. He was 
of middle age, wore elegant black clothes and had a 
smooth, oval, white face with deep shadows around 
the eyes. He appeared fatigued and sleepy, and 
yawned at times. The lady was young, a fresh-looking 
brunette with a fiery, active glance. She was dressed 
in light colors and with a sort of humorous, coquettish 
smile she gazed all around. 

When they entered the driveway, where practically 
all the occupants of the castle welcomed them with 
respectful curtsies, the dark gentleman fixed his 
weary, drowsy eyes on old Foltyn who stood in the 
foreground with loosely hanging moustaches, with 
endless devotion in his honest blue eyes, and with an 
expression of contrite grief in his wrinkled face, his 
patriarchal drum at his hip. 

The baron looked intently for a while at this interest- 
ing relic of the inheritance from his ancestors, then 
the muscles of the languid face twitched and _ his 
lordship relieved his mood by loud, candid laughter. 
The bystanders looked for a moment with surprise 
from the baron to the gate-keeper and back again. 
Then they regarded it as wise to express their loyalty 
by blind imitation of his unmistakable example and 
they all laughed the best they knew how. The 
steward and his wife laughed somewhat constrainedly, 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 61 


the light-minded BeruSka and the coachman with the 
lackey, most heartily. Even the baroness smiled 
slightly in the most bewitching manner. 

Old Foltyn at that moment presented a picture 
which it is not easy to describe. He looked around 
several times, paled and reddened by turns, patted 
down his cape and gray beard in embarrassment and 
his gaze finally slid to the fatal drum. It seemed to 
him that he comprehended it all. He was crushed. 

After a few condescending words to the others the 
nobility betook themselves to their quarters, leaving 
for the time being on the occupants of the lower floors 
the impression that they were the most handsome and 
the happiest couple in all the world. 

After a while we behold both in the general recep- 
tion-room. The master rocks carelessly in the easy- 
chair and sketches a likeness of old Foltyn on the 
covers of some book. The baroness, holding in her 
hand a naked antique statuette, looks about the room 
searchingly. 

“Advise me, Henry. Where shall I place it?” 

“You should have left it where it was.” 

“Not at all! We are inseparable. I would have 
been lonesome for these tender, oval, marble features.” 

“But if you haul her around this way over the world 
she won’t last whole very long.” 

“Never fear! I'll guard her like the apple of my 
eye. You saw that I held the box containing her on 
my lap throughout the journey.” 


62 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“You might better get a pug-dog, my dear!” 

The baroness flashed an angry glance at her husband. 
Her lips opened to make response to his offensive 
levity, but she thought better of it. She held the 
statuette carefully and swished disdainfully past the 
baron in the direction of a rounded niche in the wall. 
She was just about to deposit her charming burden 
when suddenly, as if stung by a serpent, she recoiled 
and extended a finger towards her husband. The 
dust of many years accumulated in the niche had left 
its gray trace. 

“Look!” she cried. 

“Look!” he repeated, pointing towards the ceiling. 
From the bouquet of fantastic flowers there hung a 
long, floating cobweb on which an ugly spider was 
distinctly swinging. 

“You wouldn’t listen to my warnings. Well, here 
you have an introduction to that heavenly rural idyll 
of which you raved.” 

The baroness drew down her lips in disgust at the 
spider and in displeasure at her husband’s remark. 
Violently she rang the bell on the table. The fat foot- 
man in his purple livery appeared. 

“Tell them down below to send some girl here to 
wipe down the dust and cobwebs,” the lovely mistress 
said to him with frowning brow. She sat down oppo- 
site her husband, who was smiling rather maliciously, 
and gazed with vexation at her beloved statuette. 

A considerable time passed, but no maid appeared. 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 63 


The baroness showed even greater displeasure in her 
countenance, while the baron smiled more maliciously 
than ever. 

The footman’s message caused great terror below 
on account of the dust and the cobwebs and no less 
embarrassment on account of the request for a maid. 
After long deliberation and discussion they seized upon 
Foltyn’s Marianka’ as a drowning man grasps at a 
straw. After many admonitions from old Foltyn who 
hoped through his daughter to make up for the un- 
fortunate drum, they drew out the resisting girl from 
the gate-keeper’s lodge. The steward’s wife with her 
own hands forced on Marianka her own yellow silk 
kerchief with long fringe which she folded across her 
bosom, placed an immense sweeping-brush in her 
hands, and thus arrayed the footman led his trem- 
bling victim into the master’s apartments. 

The baroness had just stamped her foot angrily and 
approached the door when it softly opened and Mari- 
anka, pale as the wall, with downcast eye, appeared in 
it. The unkind greeting was checked on the baroness’ 
lips. The charm of the simple maid surprised her. 
Slender she was and supple as a reed, her features 
gentle and childishly rounded, the rich brown hair con- 
trasting wonderfully with her fresh white skin, and her 
whole appearance breathing the enchantment of 
earliest springtime. 

“Here, dear child!” she said to her, agreeably, point- 
ing to the floating cobweb. 


64 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The girl bowed awkwardly, and for an instant under 
her light lashes there was a flash of dark blue as she 
stepped timidly forward. The brush did not reach 
the cobweb. She had to step up on her tiptoes. 
Her entire face flushed with a beautiful red glow, 
her dark-blue eye lifted itself towards the ceiling, 
her delicate white throat was in full outline, and 
below it there appeared among the fringes of the 
yellow shawl a string of imitation corals on the 
snowwhite folds of her blouse. Add to this the 
dainty foot of a princess and acknowledge—it was 
an alluring picture. 

When all that was objectionable had been removed, 
the baroness tapped Marianka graciously on the 
shoulder and asked, “What is your name?” 

“Marie Foltynova,” whispered the girl. 

“Foltyn? Foltyn? What is your father?” 

“The gate-keeper, your Grace!” 

“Doubtless the man with the drum,” suggested the 
baron, and a light smile passed over his face. 

“Go into the next room and wait for me,”’ said the 
baroness to the girl. When she had departed, the 
baroness turned to her husband with these words: “A 
charming maiden. What do you think of her?” 

“Well, it’s a matter of taste.” 

“T say—charming! Unusually beautiful figure, a 
most winsome face and withal—such modesty!” 

“The statuette is threatened with a rival.” 

“Jokes aside, what do you say to my training her 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 65 


to be a lady’s maid? To taking her into service? 
What do you say to it?” 

“That your whims are, in truth, quite varied,” he 
answered, yawning. 

The baroness indulged her whim with great energy. 
She immediately asked the girl if she would like to go 
to the city with her and, not even waiting for her 
answer, engaged her at once in her service, rechristened 
her Marietta, described in brilliant colors the position 
of a lady’s maid, and, at the end, made her a present 
of a pair of slightly worn slippers and a coquettish 
house cap. 

Old Folt¥n was fairly numbed with joyous surprise 
when Marianka, with the great news, returned to him. 
Even in his dreams he would not have thought that his 
daughter would be chosen by fate to become the 
glittering pendant to that footman of whose relation- 
ship the entire Foltyn family boasted. Instantly he 
forgot the incident of the drum, his gait became 
sturdier and his eyes glowed like a youth’s. 

Several days passed. The baroness continued en- 
thusiastic about the delights of country life and de- 
voted herself with great eagerness to the education of 
Marietta as a lady’s maid. Marietta often stood in 
front of the mirror wearing the coquettish cap and 
holding in her soft hand the large tuft of many-colored 
feathers which the mistress had purchased for her for 
brushing off the dust. Often, too, she sat on the low 
stool, her eyes gazing dreamily somewhere into the dis- 


66 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


tance where in imagination she saw tall buildings, 
beautifully dressed people, and splendid equipages. 
Frequently she would bury her head in her hands 
and lose herself in deep thought. The baron would 
sit idly in the easy-chair, smoking and yawning. The 
steward and his wife rid themselves of all fears of their 
eminent guests. BeruSka made friends with the purple 
footman playing “Twenty-six” with him in the office 
behind closed doors when they lighted their pipes. 
Once towards evening the baroness, with her beau- 
tifully bound “Burns,” stepped out into the flower- 
covered arbor in the park from which place there was 
a distant and varied view and where she hoped to await 
the nightingale concert which for several evenings had 
echoed in the neighborhood of the castle. The baron 
rebuked the footman for his fatness and ordered him 
to begin reducing by taking a walk out into the fields. 
The steward and his wife were putting up fruit behind 
closed doors. Melanie had a toothache. 
In this idyllic, peaceful moment it occurred to old 
Foltyn that Marianka was lingering an unusually long 
time in the apartments of the nobility. He disposed 
of the thought, but it returned soon again. The 
thought became every moment more and more ob- 
trusive. 
“What is she doing there so long?” he growled into 
his moustaches. ‘“‘The mistress is not in the house.” 
Involuntarily he went into the gallery and walked 
about a while, listening intently to sounds from above. 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 67 


Then he ventured on the steps, urged by an irresistible 
force. On tiptoes he reached the corridor of the first 
floor. He stole to the footman’s door and pressed the 
knob. It was closed. He crept to the door of the 
reception-room. Suddenly he paused. Within could 
be heard a voice—the voice of the baron. Distinctly 
he heard these words: “Don’t be childish! Foolish 
whims! The world is different from what the priests 
and your simple-minded parents have painted it for you. 
I will make you happy. Whatever you wish, you will 
get—beautiful clothes, jewels, money—all. I will 
make your father a butler, steward, maybe even 
something higher. You will be in the city yourself. 
Now, my little dove, don’t be ashamed, lift up your 
lovely eyes. God knows I never saw more beautiful 
ones!” 

Foltyn stood as if thunderstruck. All the blood 
receded from his face. Horror and fright were de- 
picted in it. He stooped down to the keyhole. Within 
he beheld the baron wholly changed. In his pale, 
handsome countenance there was not a single trace 
of sleepiness, and his dark eyes flashed with passion 
underneath the thin, proud brows. Uplifting by the 
chin Marianka’s beautiful face, flushed deep scarlet 
with shame, he gazed lustfully upon her heaving 
bosom. Her eyes were cast down, in one hand she 
held the statuette, in the other the tousled tuft of 
variegated feathers. 

Foltyn put his hands up to his gray head. Anguish 


68 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


contracted his throat. Through his head rushed a whirl 
of terrible thoughts. Already he had reached for the 
door-knob, then quickly jerked his hand away. No! 
To have the baron learn that Marianka’s father had 
listened to his words, to stand, shamed, and appre- 
hended in an abominable deed before his own servant 
—no, that must not be! All of Foltyn’s inborn loy- 
alty rose in opposition. But what was he to do? 

In the office was the footman. He would send 
him upstairs on some pretext. No sooner thought of 
than he hastened down. But the office was closed 
and perfect silence reigned within. Beru&ka and the 
footman who had but recently been playing cards 
inside were not at home. One was in the courtyard, 
the other out for a health promenade. 

In desperation Foltyn ran down the corridor. Sud- 
denly he paused in front of the jail-room. He stood 
but a moment and then burst open the door, seized 
the immense drum hanging there, hung it over his 
shoulder and ran out into the driveway. Wildly he 
swung the drumsticks, bowed his head, and then a 
deafening rattle resounded. He beat the drum until 
beads of sweat stood out on his brow. 

The steward, hearing the clatter, turned as pale as 
death. “In God’s name, Foltyn has gone mad,” he 
burst out. He flew to the driveway. There he beheld 
Beruska, holding a card hand of spades in one hand 
and the collar of the unsummoned drummer in the 
other. 


FOLTYN’S DRUM 69 


“Are you drunk?” shouted the clerk. 

Foltyn continued obstinately to beat the drum. 
From all sides figures came running in the dusk. 

The steward came to Beruska’s assistance. “Stop, 
you maniac!’ he thundered at Foltyn. “Don’t you 
know the baron is already sleeping? I'll drive you 
out of service immediately.” 

“Oh, just let him stay in service,’’ sounded the voice 
of the baron behind them. “He is a capital drum- 
mer.” ‘Then he passed through the bowing crowd, 
whistling and switching his riding-boots with his whip. 
He was going for a walk. 

When the baroness, attracted hither by the mysteri- 
ous sound of the drum, had returned from the nightin- 
gales’ concert and entered the reception-room she 
beheld in the middle of it her beautiful, beloved 
statuette broken into many bits. From the weeping 
eyes of Marietta whom she summoned before her she 
at once learned the perpetrator. In great wrath she 
dismissed her from service on the spot. Short was 
the dream of tall buildings, beautiful people and 
splendid equipages! 

At noon of the next day Foltyn stood in front of the 
castle and drummed the peasants to their labors. At 
the same time he gazed towards the forest road down 
which the noble carriage with marvelous speed was 
receding into the distance. When the carriage dis- 
appeared in the forest Foltyn breathed a sigh of relief, 
dropped the drumsticks and shook his head. And then 


70 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


the thought came into his head that, like the drum, 
he no longer belonged to the present era of the world. 
As to the cause of the disturbance of the day before 
he preserved an obstinate silence unto the day of his 
death. 


JAN NERUDA 


(Born July 10, 1834, in Mala Strana, Prague. Died 
Aug. 22, 1891, in Prague.) 


Tue childhood of Jan Neruda was spent in the vicinity 
of Ujezd barracks and later in humble quarters below 
the Royal Castle of Hradéany. He was exposed to all 
the privations of extreme poverty. He attended the 
school of St. Vit and the Mala Strana (Small Side) 
German school, and then entered the gymnasium, 
where he remained till he was sixteen. But inspired 
by a desire to study the Czech language and literature 
he entered the academic gymnasium, later taking up 
law and philosophy at the University. When but a 
youth of twenty his poem, “ObéSenec”” (The Hanged 
Man), was accepted and published. This started 
him on a newspaper and literary career, and three 
years later his first book, “‘H¥bitovni Kviti” (Church- 
yard Blossoms), appeared. Neruda for a while after 
his graduation was an instructor in private schools, 
but he soon returned to journalism and became 
editor successively of several noteworthy publica- 
tions patronized by the younger writers of Bohemia. 
Some of his best feuilletons were written for the 
“Narodni Listy” and were fortunately preserved as 


72 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


examples of his keen wit, kindly humor, and purposeful 
and valuable literary and dramatic criticism. In fact 
he stands as the founder of the feuilleton in his own 
country, establishing through his- wide culture a 
standard for that class of writing far above any of 
his contemporaries in France and Germany. 

The sorrow he experienced through the death of a 
beautiful woman whom he loved, he tried to forget in 
numerous trips to foreign lands, memories of which he 
has left in his superb sketches from Vienna, Istria, 
Dalmatia and other Balkan states, Italy, Constanti- 
nople, Egypt, Palestine, France, Germany. Later he 
wrote short stories, sketches and criticisms until the 
illness which had been creeping on him for years 
made further literary work impossible. 

Ever since the publication of his first book of poems, 
Neruda has had a field of his own in his frank confes- 
sions, tinged with irony and temperate, cold scepticism 
not typical of youth. His second work, “A Book of 
Verses,” was received with far more favor by a public 
which was now keener in its appreciation. Some of the 
poems in this collection, such as his “Lines to My 
Mother,” have become national lyrics and ballads. 
His “Kosmické Pisné” (Cosmic Songs) are at times * 
simple lyrics, again reverent national hymns with here 
and there the genuinely earnest longings of a great 
soul to humanize the mysteries of the universe and 
make its workings more intimate by an analogy 
between the fate of little nations and of great powers, 


JAN NERUDA 73 


as in the case of Bohemia and its military neighbors, 
and in comparing the tragedies and joys of our earthly 
life as individuals with the course of the planets. 

Neruda’s “Ballady a Romance” (Ballads and 
Romances) is almost wholly devoted to his own nation 
and people. The poems in his “Prosté Motivy” 
(Simple Motives) are arranged according to the four 
seasons of the year which inspired the thoughts on 
nature and are the most exquisite contribution to 
literary impressionism in the Czech language. His 
last poetic collection, “Zpévy Patetni” (Friday Songs), 
voices a deep consciousness of allegiance to a nation 
great in its ideals, yet greater in its sanctified suf- 
ferings and sacrifices. 

Neruda produced one tragedy, “Francesca di 
Rimini,” and several light comedies, which latter have 
been popular. In fact, certain of these comedies were 
reprinted from memory and produced in trenches or in 
camps by the Czechoslovak soldiers who for over five 
years have been in Russia and Siberia. 

There is a freedom and independence in his realism 
which makes his figures as clear-cut as medallions. 
They are usually characters in his own intimately 
known Prague, some of them drawn exclusively from 
types known in his boyhood home, as in “Povidky 
Malostranské” (Small Side Tales) and others from 
the wider Prague in “Prazské Obrazky (Prague Pict- 
ures) and “Rizni Lidé” (Various Sorts of People). 
Social problems are laid open to the very quick in 


74 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Trhani’’ (The Mob), whereas in some of his briefer 
stories there is the charm of contrast between elegiac 
sorrows and dainty touches of humor. The big human 
heart of Neruda never permits him to despise his 
types or individuals, be they ever so unworthy as far 
as virtue or strength of character is concerned. He 
tells the story of each with just a touch of mother- 
~ sadness for the pathos of it all. 

The story “He Was a Rascal” is, in considerable 
degree, autobiographical. His close knowledge of stage 
life through many years devoted to dramatie criticism 
is shown in the little sketch entitled ‘“BeneS,” in 
which the grief of that character is for the real Son- 
tagova who died of Mexican fever while on a tour of 
the western continent. His “At the Sign of the 
Three Lilies” is rather a daring piece of realistic 
writing. In “The Vampire” he wastes no more 
words than would O. Henry but his artistry is the 
more exquisitely apparent. 


THE VAMPIRE 
BY JAN NERUDA 


Tue excursion steamer brought us from Constantinople 
to the shore of the island of Prinkipo and we disem- 
barked. The number of passengers was not large. 
There was one Polish family, a father, a mother, a 
daughter and her bridegroom, and then we two. 
Oh yes, I must not forget that when we were already on 
the wooden bridge which crosses the Golden Horn to 
Constantinople a Greek, a rather youthful man, 
joined us. He was probably an artist, judging by the 
portfolio he carried under his arm. Long black locks 
floated to his shoulders, his face was pale, and his 
black eyes were deeply set in their sockets. In the first 
moment he interested me, especially for his obliging- 
ness and for his knowledge of local conditions. But 
he talked too much, and I then turned away from him. 

All the more agreeable was the Polish family. The 
father and mother were good-natured, fine people, the 
lover a handsome young fellow, of direct and refined 
manners. They had come to Prinkipo to spend the 
summer months for the sake of the daughter, who was 
slightly ailing. The beautiful pale girl was either 


just recovering from a severe illness or else a serious 
75 


76 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


disease was just fastening its hold upon her. She 
leaned upon her lover when she walked and very often 
sat down to rest, while a frequent dry little cough in- 
terrupted her whispers. Whenever she coughed, her 
escort would considerately pause in their walk. He 
always cast upon her a glance of sympathetic suffering 
and she would look back at him as if she would say: 
“It is nothing. I am happy!” They believed in 
health and happiness. 

On the recommendation of the Greek, who departed 
from us immediately at the pier, the family secured 
quarters in the hotel on the hill. The hotel-keeper 
was a Frenchman and his entire building was equipped 
comfortably and artistically, according to the French 
style. 

We breakfasted together and when the noon heat 
had abated somewhat we all betook ourselves to the 
heights, where in the grove of Siberian stone-pines we 
could refresh ourselves with the view. Hardly had 
we found a suitable spot and settled ourselves when the 
Greek appeared again. He greeted us lightly, looked 
about and seated himself only a few steps from us. 
He opened his portfolio and began to sketch. 

“T think he purposely sits with his back to the rocks 
so that we can’t look at his sketch,” I said. 

“We don’t have to,” said the young Pole. ‘We 
have enough before us to look at.” After a while he 
added, “It seems to me he’s sketching us in as a sort 
of background. Well—let him!” 


THE VAMPIRE 77 


We truly did have enough to gaze at. There is not a 
more beautiful or more happy corner in the world than 
that very Prinkipo! The political martyr, Irene, 
contemporary of Charles the .Great, lived there for a 
month as an exile. If I could live a month of my life 
there I would be happy for the memory of it for the 
rest of my days! I shall never forget even that one 
day spent at Prinkipo. 

The air was as clear as a diamond, so soft, so caress- 
ing, that one’s whole soul swung out upon it into the 
distance. At the right beyond the sea projected the 
brewn Asiatic summits; to the left in the distance 
purpled the steep coasts of Europe. The neighboring 
Chalki, one of the nine islands of the “Prince’s Archi- 
pelago,”’ rose with its cypress forests into the peaceful 
heights like a sorrowful dream, crowned by a great 
structure—an asylum for those whose minds are sick. 

The Sea of Marmora was but slightly ruffled and 
played in all colors like a sparkling opal. In the dis- 
tance the sea was as white as milk, then rosy, between 
the two islands a glowing orange and below us it was 
beautifully greenish blue, like a transparent sapphire. 
’ It was resplendent in its own beauty. Nowhere were 
there any large ships—only two small craft flying the 
English flag sped along the shore. One was a steam- 
boat as big as a watchman’s booth, the second had 
about twelve oarsmen and when their oars rose simul- 
taneously molten silver dripped from them. Trustful 
dolphins darted in and out among them and dove with 


78 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


long, arching flights above the surface of the water. 
Through the blue heavens now and then calm eagles 
winged their way, measuring the space between two 
continents. 

The entire slope below us was covered with blossom- 
ing roses whose fragrance filled the air. From the 
coffee-house near the sea music was carried up to us 
through the clear air, hushed somewhat by the distance. 

The effect was enchanting. We all sat silent and 
steeped our souls completely in the picture of paradise. 
The young Polish girl lay on the grass with her head 
supported on the bosom of her lover. The pale oval 
of her delicate face was slightly tinged with soft color, 
and from her blue eyes tears suddenly gushed forth. 
The lover understood, bent down and kissed tear 
after tear. Her mother also was moved to tears, and 
I—even I—felt a strange twinge. 

“Here mind and body both must get well,” whis- 
pered the girl. “How happy a land this is!” 

“God knows I haven’t any enemies, but if I had I 
would forgive them here!” said the father in a trembling 
voice. 

And again we became silent. We were all in such a 
wonderful mood—so unspeakably sweet it all was! 
Each felt for himself a whole world of happiness and 
each one would have shared his happiness with the 
whole world. All felt the same—and so no one dis- 
turbed another. We had scarcely even noticed that 
the Greek, after an hour or so, had arisen, folded his 


THE VAMPIRE 79 


portfolio and with a slight nod had taken his departure. 
We remained. 

Finally after several hours, when the distance was 
becoming overspread with a darker violet, so magically 
beautiful in the south, the mother reminded us it was 
time to depart. We arose and walked down towards ~ 
the hotel with the easy elastic steps that characterize 
carefree children. We sat down in the hotel under the 
handsome veranda. 

Hardly had we been seated when we heard below the 
sounds of quarrelling and oaths. Our Greek was 
wrangling with the hotel-keeper, and for the entertain- 
ment of it we listened. 

The amusement did not last long. “If I didn’t have 
other guests,” growled the hotel-keeper, and ascended 
the steps towards us. 

“T beg you to tell me, sir,” asked the young Pole 
of the approaching hotel-keeper, “who is that gentle- 
man? What is his name?” 

*“Eh—who knows what the fellow’s name is?” 
grumbled the hotel-keeper, and he gazed venomously 
- downwards. “We call him the Vempire.” 

“An artist?” 

“Fine trade! He sketches only corpses. Just as 
soon as someone in Constantinople or here in the 
neighborhood dies, that very day he has a picture of 
the dead one completed. That fellow paints them 
beforehand—and he never makes a mistake—just like 
a vulture!” 


> 


80 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The old Polish woman shrieked affrightedly. In her 
arms lay her daughter pale as chalk. She had fainted. 

In one bound the lover had leaped down the steps. 
With one hand he seized the Greek and with the other 
reached for the portfolio. 

We ran down after him. Both men were rolling in 
the sand. The contents of the portfolio were scattered 
all about. On one sheet, sketched with a crayon, was 
the head of the young Polish girl, her eyes closed and a 
wreath of myrtle on her brow. 


BENES 
BY JAN NERUDA 


In a certain little wine-shop near the Carinthian 
theatre in Vienna it was usually lively, day in and day 
out, but today, laughter and shouts filled the entire 
side-street. This was the meeting-place of the singers 
and chorus girls of the court opera and of the members 
of the orchestra, all of them people free from every care, 
for if they had admitted the first care they would 
then have had to admit altogether too many. The less 
of sweetness life offered them the more feverishly they 
rushed into it. 

Even old gray Bene, usually morose and_ short 
spoken, was as if transformed today. He drank, 
talked, drank and talked again. His expressive face 
was already flushed and was covered with a perpetual 
smile. His classic cape, in winter and in summer al- 
ways the same, hung behind him on a hook, but the 
old man felt the fire of the wine and had already re- 
moved his vest also. It struck no one as freakish that 
underneath the first vest of heavy material there ap- 
peared a second thick vest. They were thoroughly ac- 
quainted with Bene§ and knew all of his peculiarities. 


Bene had been an accompanist and rehearser of 
81 


82 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


operas for some forty years. The wider musical circles 
knew him as an excellent reader of parts, the inner 
circles knew him as a happy composer of delightful 
little lyrics, and all recognized in him an all-around good 
fellow, a little peevish, to be sure, but always willing 
to make concessions. Therefore, only to the lighter- 
minded ones of the company did his vivaciousness 
seem unsuspicious. The others surmised that it was 
probably more of a cloak, that Bene’ talked con- 
stantly in order to silence something and that he 
drank much to drown much. These said nothing but 
they, too, were gay. 

““Aha—our Leon! I was sure you’d come in today!” 
called BeneS to a new-comer. He was a young man of 
quick actions, merry face and shrewd glance. Will- 
ingly they prepared a place for him. 

“Leon is a lion,” said some one in the rear. “Daddy 
Bene’, did you hear Leo today in church?” 

“You fellows would teach me to know him!” Bene 
puffed up and the second vest was flung off. Under it 
appeared a third vest. ‘‘ You dare to tell me what any 
one’s worth is! Better keep still! Leo will be a 
second Ronconi—Ronconi was also as small and with a 
voice like a thunderous flute. You people have heard 
a lot in life! IfI say that someone will really amount 
to something, they will! I’ve foretold to this little 
minx here that she will be as happy and as famous as— 
as Sontag.” This name slipped from his lips as if by 
accident. 


BENES 83 


“What’s that Daddy BeneS is saying?” a pretty, 
merry-faced young girl, sitting near him, asked in 
German. 

“Oh, nothing, minx,” said he, patting her hair. 
*“What’s new in Zlonits, Leon?” 

“Nothing for a long time, nothing at all! But, 
thunder!—Daddy has a new cravat today.” Bene& 
consciously drew his chin up high and stretched out his 
legs. “And look at his finely polished boots, too. 
Daddy is celebrating something today!” 

BeneS frowned slightly. ‘Don’t crowd up so close to 
me, Pauline.” And he turned again to the young girl. 

“Lukova is taking a shine to Daddy!” was the cry 
from around the circle. 

“Daddy, haven’t you got some new songs for me?” 
asked the young chorus girl, destined later to become 
a renowned prima donna. 

BeneS paused to look at her. “You are pretty— 
but you haven’t such eyes as hers, after all! Well, it’s 
all one, you'll amount to something—you and Leon 
here—but the rest won’t get very far!” 

“Oho—who can know that?” wrathfully exclaimed a 
young violinist opposite. “You, too, had talent, 
- Daddy, well—and—” He did not finish. 

“Well, and what? What could an accompanist be- 
come other than an accompanist? I was one in 
Prague and I am the same in Vienna.” 

“But what if you had finished your studies in 
Prague?” 


84 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Yes—if! If I hadn’t run off to Vienna after 
Henrietta Sontag!” 

“She must have been beautiful, wasn’t she?” 

“T don’t even know that, absolutely,” burst forth 
BeneS with a lightness that was plainly feigned. 
“She was and she wasn’t. When I met her by acci- 
dent in a Prague company I accompanied her on the 
piano for the first time and when she looked at me, all 
was over. Dear God, those blue eyes of hers! I 
would have followed those eyes further than Vienna!” 

No one questioned him further, but Bene%, never- 
theless, did not remain silent. It seemed as if some- 
thing goaded him on to speaking jocularly and lightly 
of that subject. 

“Tt didn’t even worry me that others also had come 
here on her account—a young lancer, for instance. I 
knew she was as pure as an angel. Dear God, those eyes 
so soft, so heavenly! Why shouldn’t I say so 
now? What does it matter? I was insanely in love 
with her and I acted like a madman. I kept silent. 
She herself cured me. Suddenly she disappeared—it 
was said, on account of attacks from certain court 
circles on her virtue—and for me she left this written 
message, ‘I thank you fervently for your services and 
please accept enclosed three hundred as a reward for 
your difficult work of accompaniment.’ So then at 
last I saw what I was to her—an accompanist! But 
for the first time in my life I had three hundred and—” 

He intended to say something humorous, but sud- 


BENES 85 


denly became silent. His whole body trembled as if 
he were shaking with the ague, his face suddenly be- 
came rigid, his eye was fixed on the floor, his lips 
remained open. His folded hands quivered con- 
vulsively. 

“And when did she die of that Mexican cholera—it 
can’t be so many years ago?” asked a close neighbor, 
speaking perhaps only to keep the conversation going. 

“On the eleventh of June, 1854,’’ answered Benes 
in a lifeless tone. 

“The eleventh—why today it is just exactly—” 

BeneS’s head sank down on his clasped hands. 
Within the room a sudden stillness followed, no one 
speaking a word. It was a painful silence, broken 
only by the old man’s audible, unspeakably heart- 
breaking sobbing. 

For a long while the old man’s weeping continued, 
no one uttering even a whisper. 

Suddenly the sobbing ceased. The old man raised 
himself and covered his eyes with his palm. 

“Good night!” he said almost in a whisper and stag- 
gered towards the door. 


AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE LILIES 


BY JAN NERUDA 


I THINK I must have been insane that time. Every 
fibre of my being was alive, my blood was at a white 
heat. 


It was a warm, but dark, summer night. The 
sulphurous, dead air of the last few days had finally 
rolled itself up into black clouds. The stormy wind 
had whipped them before it earlier in the evening, then 
the mighty tempest burst its fury, a heavy shower came 
crashing down and the storm and rain lasted late into 
the night. 

I was sitting under the wooden arcade of the hotel 
called “At the Sign of the Three Lilies” near the 
Strahov Gate. It was a small inn, which in those 
times always had more numerous visitors on Sundays 
when, in the main room the cadets and corporals 
used to enjoy themselves dancing to the strains of a 
piano. 

Today it was Sunday. I sat under the arcades at a 
table close to the window, all alone. The mighty peals 
of thunder roared almost in constant succession, the 


downpour beat upon the tile roof above me, the water 
86 


AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE LILIES 87 


drizzling in splattering streams to the ground, while 
the piano inside the main room had only brief intervals 
of rest, ever bursting into sound anew. At times I 
looked through the open door at the whirling, laughing 
couples, and again I would gaze out into the dark 
garden. Sometimes when a brighter streak of lightning 
flashed I could see near the garden wall at the end of 
the arcade white piles of human bones. Formerly 
there had been a small burying-ground here and this 
very week they had dug up the skeletons from it in 
order to rebury them elsewhere. The ground was still 
torn up and the graves were open. 

However, I was able to remain at my table only 
a little while each time. Often I would arise and 
approach for a moment the wide-open door of the 
main saloon to have a closer look at the dancers. Each 
time I was attracted by a lovely girl of about eigh- 
teen years of age. Of slender figure, of full warm out- 
lines, with loose black hair, cut just to the neck, an 
oval, smooth face, and bright eyes, she was indeed a 
beautiful young girl. Her eyes enchanted me. 
Liquid clear they were, as mysterious as the calm 
surface of water, yet so restless, recalling to you at 
once the words, “Sooner will a fire be satiated with 
wood and the sea with water than a beautiful-eyed 
maid will be satiated with men!” 

She danced almost constantly. But well she ob- 
served that she had attracted my gaze. Whenever 
she danced past the door in which I stood she would 


88 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


fasten her eyes on me, and as she danced on further 
into the hall I saw and felt that at every turn she bent 
her eye on me. I did not notice her talking to anyone 
during the course of the evening. 

Again I stood there. Our eyes met immediately, 
although the girl stood in the very last row. The 
quadrille was nearing its close, the fifth round was just 
being finished, when another girl entered the hall, all 
out of breath and dripping wet. She forced her way 
to the girl with the beautiful eyes. The musicians 
were just striking up the sixth set. While the first 
chain was being formed, the new-comer whispered 
something to the girl with the lovely eyes and the 
latter nodded her head silently. The sixth set lasted 
somewhat longer, a brisk young cadet calling the 
changes. When it came to an end, the beautiful girl 
glanced once more towards the door leading into the 
garden, then went to the front door of the hall. I 
could see her as she slipped out, covering her head 
with her outer garments and then she vanished. 

I went and sat down again at my place. The storm 
began anew as if it had not even begun to show 
its fury. The wind howled with renewed strength, 
the lightnings flashed. I listened shiveringly, but 
thought only of the girl, of those wondrous eyes of hers. 
To go home now was not, of course, to be even seriously 
thought of. 

After a quarter of an hour I again glanced towards 
the door of the dancing-hall. There again stood the 


AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE LILIES 89 


girl with the enchanting eyes. She was arranging her 
wet garments, drying her damp hair, while some older 
girl companion helped her. 

“Why did you go home in such foul weather?” she 
asked. 

“My sister came for me.” I heard her voice for the 
first time. It was silkily soft and musical. 

“Did something happen at home?” 

“My mother just died.” 

My whole body quivered. 

The lovely eyed girl turned and stepped outside into 
the solitude. She stood near me, her eyes rested on 
mine. I felt her fingers close to my trembling hand. 
I seized her hand—it was so soft and tender. 

Silently I drew the girl farther and farther into the 
arcade and she followed freely. 

The storm had now reached its height. The wind 
Tushed like a surging flood, heaven and earth roared, 
above our heads the thunders rolled, and all around us 
it was as if the dead were shrieking from their graves. 

She pressed close to me. [I felt her damp clothing 
clinging to my breast. I felt her soft body, her warm 
glowing breath—I felt that I must drink out that 
depraved soul from the very depths of her being! 


HE WAS A RASCAL 


BY JAN NERUDA 


HorAcrek was dead. Nobody regretted his death, for 
they knew him throughout all of Small Side In 
Small Side people know their neighbors well, perhaps 
because they know no one else, and when Horaééek 
died they told each other it was a good thing, for by 
his death his good mother would be relieved, and then, 
“He was a rascal.” He died in the twenty-fifth year 
of his age, suddenly, as was stated in the obituary lists. 
In that list his character was not entered, for the 
reason, as the chief clerk in the drugstore very wittily 
remarked, that a rascal really has no character. But 
how different it would have been if the chief clerk had 
died! Nobody knew a thing against or about him! 
Horaéek’s corpse was hauled out with other corpses 
from the public chapel. ‘As was his life, so was his 
end,” said the chief clerk in the drugstore. Behind 
the carriage walked a small group, composed mainly 
of persons in somewhat holiday attire, and therefore 
all the more noticeably beggars. 

1Small Side, “Mal& Strana,” is a part of the city of Prague, 


connected with the Old Town by means of the stone bridge of 
King Charles erected in 1357. 
90 


HE WAS A RASCAL 91 


In the group only two persons properly belonged to 
Horaéek’s funeral procession, his aged mother and a 
very elegantly dressed young man who supported her. 
He was very pale, his gait was oddly trembling and 
uncertain, indeed it seemed at times as if he shook with 
chills. The Small Side populace scarcely noticed the 
weeping mother, for her burden was now lightened, and 
though she wept it was just because she was a mother 
and doubtless from joy. The young man,’ however, 
was in all probability from some other quarter, for no 
one recognized him. 

“Poor fellow! He himself needs to be supported! 
Most likely he attended the funeral on Mrs. Hordéek’s 
account!—What’s that? A friend of young Horaéek’s? 
—Why, who would publicly acknowledge friendship 
for the disgraced man? Besides, Horaéek from child- 
hood had no friends. He was always a rascal! Un- 
happy mother!” | 

The mother cried heartbreakingly all the way and 
great tears rolled down the young man’s cheeks, despite 
the fact that Hordéek had been a rascal from his very 
childhood. 

Horaéek’s parents were hucksters. They did not fare 
ill as, in general, hucksters who have their own shop 
get along well where many poor people live. Money 
gathers slowly, to be sure, when it comes in by kreut- 
zers and groats for wood, butter and lard, especially 
when one must throw in a pinch of salt and caraway. 
But for all that, the groats are cash and two-groat 


92 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


debts were punctually paid. Besides, Mrs. Horatek 
had patrons among the officials’ wives, and they praised 
her fine butter. They took a good deal of it, for they 
did not pay till the first of the month. 

Their boy, FrantiSek, was already nearly three years 
old and still wore girl’s dresses. The neighbor women 
said he was an ugly child. The neighbors’ children 
were older and seldom did Franti8ek become embold- 
ened enough to play with them. Once the children 
were calling names after a passing Jew. FrantiSek 
was among them, but he was not crying out. The Jew 
started at a run after the children and caught FrantiSek, 
who did not even attempt to run away. With curses 
the Jew led him to his parents. The neighbor women 
were shocked that the homely little FrantiSek was 
already a rascal. 

His mother was frightened and took counsel with her 
husband. 

“T shall not beat him, but here at home he would 
grow wild among the children, for we can’t look after 
him. Let us put him in a nursery!” 

Frantisek was put into trousers and went with 
lamentation to the nursery school. He sat there for 
two years. The first year he received as a reward for 
his quietness at the annual examination a breakfast 
roll. The second year he would have gotten a little 
picture if things hadn’t been spoiled for him. The day 
before the examination he was going home at noon. 
He had to go past the house of a rich landholder. In 


HE WAS A RASCAL 93 


front of the house poultry used to run through the 
quiet street, and FrantiSek often enjoyed himself 
heartily with them. That day there were on promenade 
a number of turkey hens which FrantiSek had never 
seen before in his life. He stood still and gazed at 
them in rapture. Ere long, FrantiSek was squatting 
down among them and was carrying on important dis- 
courses with them. He forgot about his dinner and 
about school, and when the children at the afternoon 
session told that Frantisek was playing with the turkey 
hens instead of going to school the schoolmaster sent 
the school maid-servant to bring him. At the examina- 
tion FrantiSek received nothing, and the schoolmaster 
told his mother to attend to him more severely, that he 
was already a regular rascal. 

And in reality FrantiSek was a thorough rascal. In 
the parish school he sat beside the son of the inspector 
and used to go home with him, hand in hand. They 
used to play together at the inspector’s house. Fran- 
tiSek was permitted to rock the youngest child, and 
for that he would get a little white pot of coffee for 
lunch. The inspector’s son always had _ beautiful 
clothes and a white, stiffly starched collar. Frantigek 
wore clean clothes, to be sure, but they were abundantly 
patched. For that matter, it never occurred to him 
that he was dressed any differently than the inspector’s 
son. One day after school the teacher paused beside 
the two boys, patted the inspector’s son on the cheek 
and said: “See, Conrad, what a fine boy you are, 


94 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


for you can keep your collar from getting soiled! 
Give my cordial greetings to your respected father!” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Frantigek. 

“T’m not talking to you, you piece of patchwork!” 

Frantisek could not see at once why his patches made 
impossible a message of greeting from the teacher to 
his father, but he began suspecting that there was, 
after all, some sort of difference between himself and 
the inspector’s son, so he gave the latter a good 
thrashing. He was driven out as an irredeemable 
rascal. 

His parents sent him to the German schools. Franti- 
Sek scarcely understood a single word of German, and 
consequently progressed very miserably in his studies. 
His teachers regarded him as a careless fellow, although 
he surely toiled enough. They considered his morals 
spoiled, because he always defended himself when 
the boys shoved into him, and he was unable to give 
any explanation in German of the reason for his scufiles. 
The boys in reality had plenty to tease him about. 
Every little while he made some laughable mistake in 
German and in other ways furnished causes for derisive 
diversion. Their chief amusement, however, was oc- 
casioned one day when he arrived at school wearing a 
quilted green cap with a horizontal shade as thick as 
one’s finger, standing out from it. His father had 
purposely made a trip to the Old Town to select some- 
thing special for bim. 

“This won’t break and neither will the sun burn you,” 


HE WAS A RASCAL 95 


he said, after sewing on the shade, and FrantiSek really 
thought he had something unusually ornamental and 
strutted proudly to school. Endless laughter greeted 
him, the boys hopped about him, assuring him that his 
shade was, compared to other shades, like a side 
post among thin planks, and they called him the “jamb 
boy.” Frantisek broke the nose of one of the boys 
with his “jamb,” for which he got the lowest grade in 
deportment, and had all he could do later to be accepted 
into the gymnasium. 

His parents wished to make every effort to have their 
son become somebody so that he would not be com- 
pelled to earn his bread by as hard means as they did. 
The teachers and neighbors tried to talk them out of 
the notion, saying he had no ability, and besides that, 
he was a rascal. Indeed, among the neighbors he had 
that reputation. He was particularly unfortunate 
with them, although in reality he did no more than 
their own children, possibly even less. Whenever he 
played ball on the street it was sure to fly into some- 
one’s open window and when with his companions he 
played at shuttlecock in the driveway he was sure to 
break the lamp under the cross, although he took pains 
to be careful. . 

Nevertheless FrantiSek, who was now called Hora- 
éek, entered the gymnasium. It cannot be said that he 
applied himself to school studies with excessive per- 
severance, for they had begun to disgust him when he 
was in the German school. His general progress was 


96 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


only enough to permit him to advance year after year 
without much difficulty to the next higher division. 
But for that Horaéek studied all the more fervently 
those subjects which do not strictly belong in school. 
He read diligently whatever came into his hands, 
and very soon had a thorough knowledge of literature 
in foreign tongues. His German style was soon very 
polished. It was the only subject in which he received 
a grade of “excellent” throughout his career at the 
gymnasium. His exercises were always replete with 
beautiful thoughts and phrases. His teacher once as- 
serted that he had a style so flowery that it resembled 
Herder’s style. They had regard for this, and when 
he did not know much in other branches they would 
say that he had great talent, but that he was a rascal. 
They did not, however, trust themselves to spoil his 
talent and Horaéek slipped through even the final 
decisive examination. 

He became a law student, as was the custom and also 
because his father wished him to become an official. 
Horaéek now had even more time for reading, and be- 
cause, at this time, he fell happily in love he himself 
began to write. The papers published his first at- 
tempts, and all of Small Side was immeasurably ex- 
asperated that he had become a literary man and that 
he wrote for the papers and, what was worst of all, for 
the Czech papers. They prophesied that he 
would now rapidly go to the dogs, and when, after a 
short time, his father died they knew with certainty 


HE WAS A RASCAL 97 


that he had grieved himself to death over his rascally 
son. 

His mother gave up the huckster business. After 
a short time things went hard with them and Hordéek 
had to see to it that he earned something. He could 
not give private instruction, and then, too, no one 
wanted him as a private teacher. He would have liked 
to look around for some small official position, but he 
had not yet decided. A taste for further study would 
not have hindered, law was a distasteful enough fare, 
and he attended college only when time hung on his 
hands. At the beginning of his law studies he made a 
resolution that for every hour he attended lectures he 
would write an epigram. He began with antique 
distichs, but when he read his first written epigram 
he saw that his hexameter had seven feet. He had 
much joy of his new meter and he determined to write 
only in heptameters. When, however, he thought of 
publishing them, he counted his heptameters and dis- 
covered they had expanded to eight. 

His chief obstacle was his love affair. The young 
girl, beautiful and truly lovable, was filled with a pure, 
strong love for him, and her parents did not force her 
to consider any one else, although there were suitors in 
plenty for her hand. The girl wished to wait for 
Horaéek until after he had finished his studies and 
had secured a good place. The official position which 
was offered to Hordéek had the advantage of an im- 
mediate salary but there were no prospects of advance- 


98 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


ment in the future. Horaéek knew well that the girl 


he loved would have no future with him. He could 
not sacrifice her to a life of privations. He thought he 
was much less in love with her than he really was and 
he resolved to give her up. He had not the heart to 
renounce her in a direct manner. He wished to be 
repulsed, driven away. It was an unconscious desire 
to revel in undeserved pain. A means of accomplishing 
his end soon occurred to him. He wrote an anonymous 
letter in a disguised hand, relating the most shameful 
things about himself and sent the letter to the parents 
of the girl he loved. The girl would not believe the 
informer, but her father was more worldly wise, made 
inquiries of Horaéek’s neighbors and heard from them 
that the young man had been a rascal from youth. 
When Horaéek came to make a call a few days later, 
the weeping girl ran into another room and he was 
politely driven out of the house. The young girl be- 
came a bride not long after, and the rumor spread 
throughout Small Side that Horaéek had been banished 
from the house for his rascality. 

Now, indeed, Horatéek’s heart ached to the breaking- 
point. He had lost the only person who truly loved 
him, and he could not deny that it was through his own 
fault. He lost courage, his new occupation proved 
distasteful to him and he began to languish and fail 
visibly. His neighbors were not in the least surprised, 
for, said they, it was the natural consequence of reckless 
living. 








HE WAS A RASCAL 99 


His present work was in a private banking-house. 
Despite his dislike for it, he worked industriously, 
and his employer soon placed entire confidence in 
him, even entrusting large sums of money to him 
when these had to be delivered somewhere. Hordtek 
also had an opportunity to earn the gratitude of his 
employer’s son. One day the young man waited for 
Horaéek when the latter was just departing. 

“Mr. Horaéek, if you will not help me, I shall 
have to drown myself and cause my father dis- 
grace in order to escape my own shame. I owe 
a debt which must absolutely be paid today. I 
shall not receive my own money until day after to- 
morrow and I don’t know what to do. You are de- 
livering some money to my uncle—. Entrust it to 
me for the time being and day after tomorrow every- 
thing will be fully settled. Uncle will not ask father 
about the money!” 

But the uncle did ask, and the next day this notice 
appeared in the newspapers: “I request all who have 
any dealings with me to entrust no money to Frantisek 
Horaéek. I have discharged him on account of dis- 
honesty.’ Even a report of a fire in some other quar- 
ter would not have interested Small Side so muchas 
did this. 

Horaéek did not betray the son of his employer. 
He went home and lay down in bed under the pretext 
that he had a headache. 

The district doctor for the poor on the following day 


100 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


entered the drugstore at his regular hour, somewhat 
absorbed in thought. 

“So, then, that rascal is dead?” asked the clerk 
suddenly. 

*Hordtek?—Well, yes!” 

“And what did he die of?” 

“Well, now—perhaps we'll say in the records that 
he was stricken with apoplexy.” 

“So! Well, after all, it’s a good thing that he 
didn’t run up a lot of bills for medicines, the rascal!” 


FRANTISEK XAVIER SVOBODA 


(Born October 25, 1860, in MoniSek.) 


Tue love of out-of-doors, due to his country birth and 
bringing up, breathes through each of Svoboda’s 
stories even when they concern themselves with the 
life of the effete and those whose interests are far from 
those of nature. Svoboda’s technical education in the 
substantial realities of every-day life prepared him for a 
position as official in the city bank in Prague, where he 
remained until 1911, but it did not crush out of him 
appreciation and love for all that nature gives so 
generously. 

Mr. Svoboda has been almost equally active along 
three lines of literary expression:—as a poet, as a 
dramatist and as a novelist and short-story writer. 

His early activities were in the line of poetical pro- 
duction, the first fruits being his “Basné” (Poems) 
of 1883-85. More keen and far deeper are his later 
collections—“Nalady z Minulych Let” (Moods of 
Former Years), 1890, and “Kvéty Z Mych Luéin” 
(Blossoms from My Meadows), 1891. Other books of 
lyrics and epics have followed since that time. 

As a dramatist, few modern writers excel him in 


realism, verisimilitude and character delineation. 
101 


102 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The dramas, “Marinka Valkova” and “Olga 
RubeSova,” both named for their leading female 
characters: “Rozklad” (Disintegration); “Sméry Zi- 
vota” (Aims of Life); “Utok Zisku” (The Assault of 
Acquisition); “Podvraceny Dub” (The Overthrown 
Oak); “Odpoutané Zlo” (The Unbound Evil); “Pies 
Tii Vrchy’ (Over Three Mounts) and “Démon” 
(The Demon) reveal him as a profound psychologist. 
His best plays in lighter, but no less genuine, vein are 
his “Fialka” (The Violet); “Dédetku, déde¢ku” 
(Grandfather); ‘“Rozveselena Rodina” (The Merry 
Family); “Lapeny Samsonek” (Samson Made Cap- 
tive); “Mlsdnitko” (The Dainty Bit); and “Poupé” 
(The Bud). 

It is Svoboda, the short-story writer, who effectively 
gives a cross-section of life as he knows it in various 
fields. The realism evident in his initial collection of 
“Povidky” (Stories), published almost as early as his 
first book of poems, holds his readers as strongly as his 
sketch “Probuzeni” (The Awakening), which probes 
the soul of a student to its depths. The author is not 
always concerned with the social, national or philosoph- 
ical significance of a deed, but is often the teller of a 
story for the story’s own sake. 

His scenes and characters are selected from all sorts 
and conditions of life and are usually objectively 
presented with much illuminating and lively dialogue. 
Among his very readable collections of stories are: 
“Naladové Povidky” (Stories of Moods), “Drobné 


FRANTISEK XAVIER SVOBODA 103 


P¥ihody” (Minor Incidents), “ Pestré Povidky” (Mot- 
ley Tales), “Z Brdskych Lesi’”’ (From the Brd For- 
ests), “Valeéné Sny Franti8ka Polaka’”’ (War Dreams 
of Frank Polak), “Vaem a Osud”’ (Passion and Fate). 

His brief romances, entitled “Srdce Jeji Vzkvétalo 
Vidy Dvéma Kvéty”’ (Her Heart Ever Bloomed with 
Two Blossoms) and “AZ Ledy Popluji” (When the Ice 
Flows), have been very popular. 

The ability of the author as a realist possessed of the 
keenest dramatic instinct, expressed by an art so great 
that it is wholly unapparent is shown in this simple 
tale of a soldier of the Hapsburg army “Every Fifth 
Man,” is selected from his “War Dreams of Frank 
Polak.” 





EVERY FIFTH MAN 
BY FRANTISEK X. SVOBODA 


Har of our company stood on a height near a heavy 
battery of cannon. I was with the other half which 
took its position among the furrows of a potato-field, 
a considerable distance from our main army, which 
for two hours had kept up a fusillade with the 
enemy infantry, thinly spread out beyond a swampy 
meadow, on a low green hill. In the potato-field 
among the yellowish, frosted stalks where we lay, 
chiefly as guard for observing the left flank, the smoke 
whitened every little while and a ball sped idly some- 
where into the broad pasture land on the elevated 
ground, where the enemy soldiers looked like small, 
bluish, sparsely planted flowers in a green field. 

A shot whistled past my ear and lost itself in the 
soft and, as yet, transparently clear air. 

I was lying in a deep unraked ridge of pebbly loam, 
holding in my hand a loaded gun aimed straight ahead. 
I was not shooting. It seemed useless to me. The 
potato-vine was near my eyes and exhaled an odor of 
decaying leaves. I looked about over the country and 
everything that appeared before me in the broad 


picture pleased me. The view was unobstructed and 
105 


106 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


the infrequent shooting of this section of the army 
suggested merely a maneuver, more than a real battle. 
One felt a certain pleasure and freedom in being 
in this low country, and it was not disagreeable to lie 
in the furrows. My eyes were delighted with the 
harmony of the lovely autumn colors which in all their 
shades and tints had touched everything in the level 
field as well as in the small distant forests. 

In front of me lay the infantryman, Vanék, a tall, 
bony fellow with an irregular, pale-colored full beard, 
but with a good-natured manner and a simple, open 
face. He usually remained aloof out of some sort of 
rural shyness, and meditated quietly on his own affairs. 
He was an older man, married and the father of three 
children, as I learned in conversation with him. The 
tips of his big boots with their broad soles were dug 
into the furrow and his trousers were soiled from the 
soft earth. 

“We're well off here, aren’t we, Vanék?” I said to 
him. 

“Well off is right, Mr. Sergeant,” he answered 
readily. “Very comfortable.” 

“Tf it would only be like this every day we'd be 
happy, wouldn’t we?” 

“Well, I should say so! Ha! Ha!” 

“Oh, as for our rustic,” sounded the thin, disagree- 
able voice of another infantryman, Ejem, lying not 
far off, “he is right at home here!” (They always 
called Vanék “the rustic.’’) 


EVERY FIFTH MAN | SOF 


“He smells potatoes,” Ejem continued, laughing. 
“Tf he could only pull up a few and take them to his 
wife!” 

The others all laughed. 

“Sure,” calmly added Vanék. 

“Here, you're fairly rolling in potatoes, aren’t you?” 
Ejem teased. “‘And when at home someone gives you 
a potato you don’t know what it is and have to go to 
the neighbors to ask.” 

The soldiers burst out laughing anew. Vanék 
growled out something, but later laughed with the rest. 

Just then we caught a glimpse of Major Holay riding 
up to our division on his powerful horse, choosing his 
way along the slope of the hill so that the enemy shots 
could not reach him. The horse was going at a trot, 
his broad, smooth breast shining in the sunlight, while 
his lifted head tossed restlessly. From his mouth 
frothed white foam and his feet moved quickly through 
the air like black flexible metal rods. The Major’s 
brown coat with its gold collar, his blue trousers and 
high boots were distinctly outlined in the center of the 
open spaces with their dark, autumnal coloring. 
We heard the hollow sound of the hoofs and the 
neighing of the horse, indeed it seemed to us that 
we heard even the smack of the Major’s lips and the 
peculiar swish of his boots against the straps. 

“The Major is coming!” cried Ejem, and we all felt 
a sudden fear. 

Vanék moved a little in trying to arrange himself to 


108 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


lie as he had been taught in drill and as our service 
orders prescribed. 

“On his raven-black steed he rides,” continued Ejem 
in a singing and unnatural voice as he set his gun close 
to his face. ‘‘We must act as if we were shooting,” he 
added, continuing to adjust himself. 

The approaching Major Holay caused considerable 
stir among us, for his extreme severity was not at all 
in favor among the younger men of the army who 
were unused to the rigorous military service in 
which Holay, in former years, had grown up. 

“Why is he coming here?’”’ I thought to myself in 
fear, changing to a sort of feverishness. “Is it because 
we are lying here so comfortably and not firing much? 
He’s certain to order us to lie some different way and 
do more shooting.”’ 

“Now then, fire! Fire away!’’ in muffled tones com- 
manded Lieutenant Schuster who until now had said 
nothing. “In regular fashion—and give ’em plenty! 
Hufsky, fire! Ejem, shoot! Polak, give heed!’ 

The shooting from our division in the potato-field 
echoed in frequent succession now, and into the air 
were carried innumerable puffs of white, smelling 
smoke. The observation and firing were now more 
alert as if we were Heaven knows how enthusiastic 
about this senseless fusillade. Major Holay had such 
an influence over us that we feared him and the major- 
ity of the soldiers hated him. His full, double-chinned 
milky white, shaved face, with its moustache and small 


EVERY FIFTH MAN 109 


side-whiskers, its large, sharp nose, closely compressed 
lips and half-closed eyes in their gray, half-concealing 
lashes was altogether too cold, cruel and disagreeable 
to win affection from anyone. He never smiled and 
always gazed off somewhere, shouting out at intervals 
his brusque orders in gruffly overbearing manner. 

He was about six steps distant from us. We were 
now shooting copiously, keeping an eye on the Major 
meanwhile. 

Suddenly a shot whizzed in a different direction than 
the rest. Immediately after we saw Major Holay 
leaning backward and about to fall from his horse. 

“He is shot!” flashed through my brain, and a 
strange foreboding overpowered me. 

“That was one of you!”’ furiously shrieked Schuster 
and leaped into the furrows where we were lying. 
His legs encased in knickerbockers were dark above me. 
A disagreeable chill went through my body. 

No one answered. The Lieutenant’s violent cry was 
carried through the clear autumn sunshine. 

“Some one of you fellows here! Who was it?’ he 
cried in a hoarse voice. ‘Who was it?” he shouted 
again with a kind of fierce agitation. 

We looked silently at the Major as he sank from his 
horse. His huge body bent backwards. His cap fell 
off and one foot was for an instant caught in the 
stirrup. The horse reared up and in wild affright 
started running across the plain, whitened with stubble. 
The Major’s body remained lying beside the road. 


110 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


No one of us had yet uttered a word. The Lieu- 
tenant in the greatest excitement still shouted and 
scrutinized one gun after another. Every one was 
aimed in the direction of the enemy. We had ceased 
shooting and lay motionless. Deep emotion held back 
our breath. Schuster’s black, fiery eyes glistened in 
his red face and fairly snapped flames at all of the 
prostrate soldiers. 

“Who was it?” he screamed again, turning his face 
in the direction where lay our army. 

I arose and placed myself directly in front of him. 
He was frightened. 

“We cannot leave the Major lying there!’ I said in 
a very earnest voice, looking into his glittering eyes. 
“He may be only wounded! We must go to his aid!” 
I spoke rapidly, looking about in alarm and forgetting 
all military precepts. 

He was somewhat startled, amazed that I spoke 
suddenly of something altogether different from what 
he had, in the first instant, expected, and the fire in his 
eyes died down. A visible embarrassment took pos- 
session of him and he only babbled something indistinct 
into the air. Someone laughed, and this little burst of 
merriment incensed him anew. 

““We must carry him away!” I said with definiteness. 

“Yes, yes,” he replied, absently. “We will carry 
him away, of course—we’ll carry him away!” And he 
gazed around. 

Immediately, at his command, his corporal with four 


Se 


EVERY FIFTH MAN 111 


men departed to carry away the corpse of Holay. 
We did no more firing. We looked continually in the 
direction in which they were bearing the Major. His 
horse galloping with flying mane disappeared some- 
where near the road among the trees. 

About an hour later the enemy infantry retired and 
our division returned to the main army. We went 
without a word, agitated and with misgivings. Con- 
stantly I saw in my mind’s eye Major Holay, his 
severe, milky-pale face and his blinking eyes. Even a 
strange grief filled my being and to my mind there 
kept coming, along the way, affecting memories of 
various incidents experienced with Major Holay. At 
times I was convinced that Major Holay was in 
reality a good man and I said, finally, aloud, “He was 
misunderstood, misunderstood!” 

Hardly had we rejoined our company when our 
Captain, with ruddy face, rode out on his horse. 
Schuster stepped forward and announced to him what 
had happened. 

“TI know,” answered the Captain severely. “The 
shot came from our division. The bullet found in 
the breast of Major Holay is our bullet.’”” Then he 
turned to us. “Who did it?” he asked, raising himself 
on his stout mare. 

No one answered. 

“‘Let him announce himself!” he shouted. 

Absolute silence reigned in our ranks. 

“As you know, in war there is no time for investiga- 


112 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


tion. If you don’t tell who did it, I'll order you all 
shot down!” 

Lieutenant Schuster, standing beside the Captain, 
affected at these words a very stern mien, twisting his 
black moustaches. 

“In five minutes,”’ shouted the Captain, “you will 
again form ranks. I invite you to deliver up the 
scoundrel who killed the Major. If not, you will all 
be shot! And, urging on his horse, he rode quickly 
away. 

A great anxiety forced itself into my bosom. The 
Captain’s words sounded forth sharply and _ icily. 
To my mind there came recollections of “articles” 
in times of war where it always stated, “He will 
be shot.” 

The soldiers now began to talk noisily. 

“Not a word will they get out of us!’ they vowed 
mutually. 

“They won’t do so very much to us!”’ said someone, 
and several others repeated the same opinion with 
emphasis. A sort of activity and excitement was now 
plainly noticeable in this division. All of them laughed. 
Only I felt anxious and depressed. 

After a while the Captain rode up perspiring. He 
brought with him the orders of the Colonel. Seeing 
him, we became silent and looked at each other in 
sudden fear. 

His face was angrily clouded, his full beard seemed 
to be grayer than usual and his actions were more de- 


EVERY FIFTH MAN 113 


termined and speedier. His stout horse kept rearing 
all the time and refused to quiet down. Among us, 
all laughter had quickly vanished. A grave mood fell 
on all when the Captain rode out before us and cried 
out, “Will you deliver up the criminal?” 

His voice was icy, no longer as brawling as before, 
but more effective. I felt a chill from my feet clear to 
my head, and I looked around at the other men as if I 
expected that one of them would speak out. A deep, 
oppressive silence reigned. 

The Captain then rode directly up to us and said 
something to Lieutenant Schuster, who, for reasons 
unknown to me, was flushing deeply. Then he lifted 
his head as high as possible and gave orders for us 
to stand in a single row, without regard to size or 
rank, 

“Quickly! Quickly!’ he shouted, seeing that the 
men stepped up to their neighbors with a,sort of mis- 
trust, slowness and fear. 

As I passed Schuster he whispered to me, “Every 
fifth man—take care!” 

Something immoderately, indefinably appalling fell 
on my chest. My heart began to beat wildly, the 
blood rushed to my head, and into my eyes a great heat 
poured. I could not at once comprehend the words of 
the Lieutenant and I pressed forward into the long row 
extending out in either direction. I found myself in 
the right wing, practically near the end of that long 
line, winding through the white oat stubble. Iwas 


114 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


without reflection, without any sort of clear concep- 
tion, and I heard only as in a dream the shouting of the 
Captain, whose wide trousers on his massive legs were 
constantly before my eyes. 

“Hurry quickly! Quickly!’ he cried. “Into line! 
Into line!” 

Of a sudden, a clear beam penetrated my brain. 
“Every fifth man,” sounded in my ears, and I com- 
prehended the confidential message of Lieutenant 
Schuster. 

“Every fifth man will be shot,” I whispered to my- 
self. Oppressed with agony, I quickly counted from 
the right end. I was the tenth man. A tremendous 
fire and fright afflicted my soul and at that moment, 
with a strength that was not my own, I seized the man 
standing at my right, pushed him to the left and 
quickly leaped into his place. No one observed me and 
the fever within was relieved. I was saved. 

Now, at last, I looked at the man standing to the 
left whom, by my one act, I had deprived of life. 

It was Vanék. 

He stood calmly, good-humoredly, suspecting noth- 
ing, and holding in his work-calloused, bruised hands a 
gun. He was looking straight ahead with the same 
frank gaze which I had always known him to have, 
and with the trustfulness of an honest countryman 
he awaited a just decision. Even a slight, though very 
touching, smile played on his lips and in his eyes re- 
posed a cheerful friendliness for all things on earth. 


EVERY FIFTH MAN 115 


An unspeakable sorrow gripped me of a sudden. I 
wished to quickly dodge back to my former place, but 
the Captain caught sight of me. 

“Stay in your place!” he roared, and turned ruddy 
to his forehead. His large eyes bulged out noticeably. 
“Whoever moves will be shot on the spot!” 

All became silent. My heart seemed to pound furi- 
ously within me, but only at intervals. I looked 
around at Vanék. He was smiling as he gazed out 
on the plain lying before us, over which the Colonel 
with some officers came riding towards us. Behind 
them advanced a company of some infantry regiment 
unfamiliar to me. All this happened quickly, rigor- 
ously, silently and withal mysteriously and ominously. 
My eyes roved from place to place while I waited an 
opportune moment to draw back Vanék to his former 
place. But I dared not move again. The Captain 
watched me constantly. 

Just then Lieutenant Schuster stepped up to our 
line and, seeming somehow taller and more dignified, 
counted out in his high-pitched voice, “One, two, three, 
four, five!’ And seizing the soldier indicated by the 
number “five” by the collar he pulled him out in 
front of the line. 

“One, two, three, four, five!’ Vanék was now 
drawn out in front. In embarrassment he smiled and 
looked about him good-naturedly as if he thought that 
he was to be elevated in rank or to be honored in some 
manner. He did not yet grasp what was really hap- 


116 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


pening. But deep and genuine compassion, full of 
grief and pain, stifled me. 

Schuster’s high-pitched voice continued to sound, 
moving farther towards the left. In front of us 
stood several soldiers. They did not know what 
position to assume, confusedly looking about at the 
officers who stood dispersed over the field. 

Increasing anguish held my heart and throat in a 
vise. All of us were pale and terror stricken. Vanék 
was looking about and, like a little child, he turned and 
smiled at us. Whenever he felt that he was observed 
by one of the officers he straightened up and, according 
to military rule, gazed intently ahead into vacancy. 

I recalled many moments spent with him and to my 
mind came the rending consciousness that Vanék had 
three children at home. 

“This is terrible,” I whispered, quivering in every 
nerve. But I did not have the power to undertake a 
deed that would save his life. A sort of weakness of 
which I had not been conscious before, and which was 
due directly to the impotence of human nature, 
held me back. In my eyes a slight wave cf heat, 
then tears and powerless rage followed each other 
in quick succession. I was crushed, but I could 
look at all that was happening about me somewhat 
more resolutely. 

Schuster had finished counting. 

Twenty-one men stood in the foreground. 

The company which had just arrived with rapid step 


EVERY FIFTH MAN 117 


and in unusual order sent out eight men who took 
from the selected men their weapons. 

Vanék became pale and his tall body from sheer 
weakness took on a crooked appearance. 

“Dear God!” he moaned softly, and his bony, 
bruised hands were clasped. He looked around at me 
and I hung my head. A portion of some sort of prayer 
I remembered from childhood came to my tongue. I 
wanted to whisper “Forgive’’ to him, but even this 
word remained on my lips, for the order was given to 
fall in. Immediately Schuster, with unusual de- 
cision and haste, constantly admonishing someone in 
his high voice, which sounded strangely in my ears, 
led us away to the front ranks behind the retreating 
enemy infantry. 

We pressed on like animals, obediently, rapidly and 
in utter speechlessness. We had all succumbed to the 
terrible result of the unjust punishment, and all of us 
were doubtless thinking of those who remained behind. 
My whole body trembled. Through my thoughts 
flashed all the incidents and all the figures of the 
soldiers, and longest to remain in my mind’s eye was 
always Vanék with his good-hearted, childlike smile. 
A great tenseness began gradually to overpower me, 
a hot wave rolled into my cheeks, and my ears in 
strained attention searched the varying hum for the 
sound of firing. 

At that instant the collective discharge of many guns 
howled behind us. I cried out faintly. For a mo- 


118 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


ment all became black before my eyes. In my breast 
something ached as if my heart had been torn out by 
force. My whole being was crushed under a weight 
of grief. 

And I began to pray the Lord’s Prayer fervently and 
sincerely as I had not been able to do since my earli- 
est childhood. 


JOSEPH SVATOPLUK MACHAR 
(Born February 29, 1864, in Kolin.) 


Macnar spent his youth in Brandys on the Elbe, 
which calm and lovely country he often describes in his 
poems and stories. After completing his course at the 
gymnasium in Prague and fulfilling his required military 
service he became, in 1891, a bank official in Vienna, 
where he lived until the outbreak of the world war, 
during the early period of which he was imprisoned on 
information furnished by the Austrian spy system, 
which asserted that a revolutionary, anti-Austrian 
poem of Machar’s had been published in a Czech paper 
in the United States. The exigencies to which the 
spy system was put to trump up a case was well shown 
in the Machar affair, for the poem was indeed published 
in the United States, but it had previously appeared 
many times in Bohemia without giving offense to the 
Hapsburg government. In the newly.organized Czecho- 
slovak Republic, Machar has just been appointed 
General-Inspector of the Czechoslovak Army. 
Machar’s proximity to the Austrian capital and his 
distance from Prague gave him at once an insight into 
the clouded whirlpool of the empire’s politics and a 


perspective on the life of his own countrymen, which a 
119 


120 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


mere Viennese or a Praguer, respectively, could not 
attain. This insight he displays in his fearless attacks 
on subterfuge and hypocrisy on the one hand and flag- 
waving and drum-beating patriotism on the other. 

It is chiefly as a poet that Machar is known. He uses 
the medium of verse to fling his challenge to wordy, 
but deedless, idealism among his compatriots, to pro- 
claim rebellion against empty religion, the fruitless 
promises of politicians, the inanity of a so-called social 
system forever degrading the Magdalens and letting 
weeds spring up where roses should bloom. He always 
places himself on the side of the oppressed or down- 
trodden, even though he many times invited and re- 
ceived a storm of violent abuse by refusing to idealize 
the sordid and insisting that squalor and meanness were 
foul, though just as true as the beautiful. Eminently 
a realist of the Neruda type, he has had to fight for 
the recognition of his principles, as well as of himself, 
as their promulgator. 

Machar’s best-known poetical works are “V Zari 
Hellenského Slunce” (In the Glow of a Hellenic Sun), 
advocating a return to the robust faith of the Greeks; 
“Confiteor,” full of scepticism and heartaches; “Bez 
Nazvu (Without a Name), an aggressive attack on life’s 
hard conditions; “Zde by Mély Kvésti Rize” (Here 
Roses Should Bloom), depicting the depth of sorrows of 
womankind; “Magdalen,” a romance in blank verse, 
translated into eight languages, detailing the story of a 
woman who has once fallen and whom relentless fate, 


JOSEPH SVATOPLUK MACHAR 121 


in the form of the self-appointed censors of society, 
pursues to the end of a career that might have been 
beautiful; “Tristium Vindobona,” a mirror of Czech 
national psychology; ‘‘Golgotha,” a discussion of the 
Roman Empire; “Jed z Judey”’ (Poison from Judea), 
thoughts suggested by monuments of ancient culture. 

Machar’s prose, like his poetry, represents the 
changing attitude of mind towards all big, vital ques- 
tions. His reflections on life are presented in the many 
sketches in “Stara Prosa’’ (Old Prose Tales); “‘Hrst 
Belletrie’’” (A Handful of Tales); Stories in Prose 
(1901-1903) and two later collections with the same 
titles; ‘“‘Krajiny, Lidé a Netopyii’? (Lands, People 
and Bats); “‘VerSem i Prosou”’’ (In Verse and Prose); 
“Kniha Feuilletoni” (A Book of Feuilletons); “Rim” 
(Rome), a discussion of ancient, papal and modern 
Rome; “Konfesse Literata’’ (The Confessions of a 
Literary Man), a diary of a man striving to express his 
life in terms of literary service. 

The story used here is from his “Stara Prosa”’ and is 
done in his characteristic manner. 





THEORIES OF HEROISM 


BY JOSEPH SVATOPLUK MACHAR 


“Tr’s ten years since then,”’ the Captain resumed, after 
long urging. “Our battalion was in Hercegovina. 
The devil was to blame for that campaign. You have 
no doubt read in the papers enough about all the trials, 
misfortunes and sufferings endured. Bah! that’s all 
only a shadow of the horrible reality. That was not 
war—it was a chase after a rabble of wild men in which 
the necks of the pursuers were in danger every second, 
and if I were to tell all that we suffered you would say, 
‘It isn’t possible for a man to live through all that.’ 
And yet a man had to live through it. Habit— A 
man gets used to everything in this world. 

“But to get to what I really want to tell I will 
leave out the description of all the skirmishes and 
battles which we engaged in that fall and winter. I 
will pass over at once to Gacko. 

“We struck Gacko in March. There our company 
remained in garrison. At that time I was a First 
Lieutenant. 

“Gacko is an abominable nest. A dirty, frowning 
village of Christians and Turks who would gladly have 


killed us in perfect unanimity of mind. Whether a 
123 


124 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


a youth or an old man met you—each one fairly 
pierced you with his eyes. 

“The women there were very odd. You hear often 
of the beauty of Hercegovinian women, you see their 
pictures—I ought not to spoil your illusions. I looked 
at every woman that I met, and I arrived at an oppo- 
site conclusion on the beauty question. All of them 
were ugly, positively hideous and withered, as if they 
had never been young. If there happened to be one 
here and there that was really young she was ugly just 
like the rest. 

“The Turkish women were just the same. We saw 
them often. They were veiled up to their eyes—but 
those eyes sufficed for the observer. They were eyes, 
altogether so stupid, so entirely without shine or 
beauty that they gave birth among us to the permanent 
joke that their faces were veiled out of consideration 
for our refined sense of beauty. And, strangely 
enough, too, this joke was taken up and soon spread 
over all Hercegovina. 

“And the life there! Drill, sentinel inspection, drill 
and sentinel inspection! It was a dog’s life—worse 
than the marches and battles which we had to go 
through before. Our only joy, in reality, our only 
consolation was wine. And a man sat in the casino 
(it was a filthy hut, one large room with a low, smoked- 
up ceiling) and drank and forgot. Yes, a man forgot 
and drank—and frequently drank down his whole 
future. 


THEORIES OF HEROISM 125 


“The entertainment there was not startlingly varied. 
We played cards, talked, sang. We liked to strike 
up the melancholy Hercegovinian songs. Our con- 
versations were about every possible thing on earth. 
Often we waded into subjects which none of us under- 
stood. 

“One evening I returned with my division from a 
sentry inspection. We were tired to death. For ten 
whole hours we had climbed cliffs, crawled through 
ravines and waded through snow up to our knees. 
The wind blew first from one direction and then from 
the other and dashed frosty pieces of snow into our 
faces. The men did not even eat or undress, but 
crawled into their beds and slept. 

“T entered the barracks and sank into a chair. 
Wine and cigarettes revived me to some extent. 

“In the casino it was lively. 

“My comrades sat or stood around a table near the 
stove. They were all absorbed apparently in an in- 
teresting conversation. At first I did not understand 
a word, for several of them were talking at once. The 
discussion evidently had become intensely interest- 
ing, now only one question with its respective answer 
at a time was to be heard, the rest listening intently. 

“T shoved my chair a little closer. 

““And I insist on my own view,’ said Lieutenant 
Martini, with animation, ‘and I repeat once more 
that a man who values his life at nothing, who has 
nothing to lose in life, is the bravest soldier.’ 


126 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Martini was an Italian. He was tall with sun- 
burnt cheeks, raven hair and moustache, eyes dark as 
coals and a quick temper. When he talked he gesticu- 
lated with his hands and shouted as if he stood before a 
division of his soldiers. 

““And I dispute that,’ after a pause, spoke Lieu- 
tenant Setina, a Czech from Bohemia. ‘A soldier to 
whom life is nothing cannot value it and will risk it 
for every piece of foolishness, on every trivial occa- 
sion—that’s poor principle. Such a man is not a 
hero in my eyes. A hero must know the value of his 
life. He protects it as his dearest possession as long, 
of course, as his defense of it squares with his military 
honor and conscience. He must know that with his 
life there disappears a sword from the ranks of the 
army of his country and therefore he ought to appreciate 
the worth of his life.’ 

“<Setina is right,’ interrupted Captain Kristovic, a 
native of Croatia, rocking on his chair. 

**T still insist on my own view,’ burst out Martini. 
‘One sword more or less—his Majesty always has a 
substitute. No one but a philistine or a coward would 
act as Setina says. An Austrian officer sees no heroism 
in it.’ 

“Setina’s cheeks flamed. He struck the table with 
his clenched fist and cried out, ‘And I again see in your 
ideal of heroism only an example of folly! It is wholly 
unreasonable! Just call back to mind the history of 
the wars of 1859 and 1866. The Austrian officers con- 





THEORIES OF HEROISM 127 


sidered it dishonorable to lie down on the ground or to 
kneel behind their firing-lines. And the consequence? 
The officers were shot down at the very first charge! 
That is a slightly illusory heroism. I shall risk my 
life only on an important occasion—in matters of 
nonsense I shall protect it. Thus every respectable 
soldier feels and does—unless he is a crack-brained 
lunatic!’ 

‘“““That’s true!’ 

***Setina is right.’ 

“Wholly right.’ 

*“A few other expressions of approval were heard 
around the room. 

““Martini’s hand trembled. His dark face grew 
crimson. Ominous lightnings flashed from his eyes. 

*“*T jeutenant,’ he said, controlling himself and forcing 
his voice into the tones of a formal conversation, ‘I 
demand that you moderate your expressions. That 
is the opinion I hold.’ 

“He laid special stress on the word ‘I.’ We under- 
stood him. Martini was known to be the best swords- 
man in the whole battalion. Neither did his revolver 
ever miss aim. 

“Suddenly we began to comprehend the gravity of 
the situation. However, before a single appeasing 
word could be spoken, Setina arose and said with forced 
calmness, ‘Lieutenant, I have given my private 
judgment of a man who would, according to your 
principles, lay claim to the name of a hero.’ 


128 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


‘““A smothered assent was heard around the room. 
We felt that Setina was acting with dignity. 

“This approbation fired Martini even more. 

“*Tieutenant, I remind you once more that behind 
that idea I stand,’ burst out Setina, likewise angered. 

““Take that back,’ roared Martini. 

““T’m not afraid of you,’ answered Setina, and 
looked icily into his eyes. 

“We all arose. Setina was the favorite of all the 
officers of the battalion. His complexion was as fair 
as a girl’s. He had blue eyes and a blond moustache. 
In the service he was without a flaw. As a companion 
he was always pleasant and ever a perfect friend. 
Here in Prague he had an aged mother and a sweet- 
heart. He was only waiting for the end of the cam- 
paign, when he was to be made a first lieutenant, and 
then he intended to marry. He always wrote to his 
mother once a week and to his sweetheart every other 
day. This letter he always wrote regularly, even if it 
were only a few lines in length. Sometimes there was 
something impressively funny about it. I had often 
seen him writing on the very battle-field. He would sit 
in the snow warming his rigid right hand on a cigarette, 
and would write on a piece of paper held on his knee. 

“Martini wasn’t much liked among us. He was a 
cynic, feared for his dexterity at fencing and for his 
sure aim with the revolver. He liked to mock, with 
special malevolence, at every sacred feeling known to 
man. He himself had not an atom of sentiment. Of 


THEORIES OF HEROISM 129 


his parents or home he never spoke a word. His 
soldiers he treated roughly and without a touch of 
feeling. He had never liked Setina, probably because 
of the popularity the latter enjoyed, due to the charm 
of his personality. 

“Setina could not retract his words—that was cer- 
tain; he could not lower his dignity to that extent. 
We tried to appease Martini, we explained to him in 
the mildest manner—in vain. 

“Take back—take back everything,’ he raged. 

“Setina stood there pale and spoke no word. It was 
as if a horrible foreboding had taken possession of 
his soul. At intervals his fingers dug into his palms 
spasmodically, and his lips quivered. 

“We pleaded with Martini. He only sneered mali- 
ciously. 

“Here and there a few threats were heard. 

“Martini tossed his head, looked around the casino 
and said, bitingly: ‘Gentlemen, has any one else any- 
thing against me? Just be kind enough to come for- 
ward. We'll settle it all at once.’ 

*A duel was unavoidable. 

“T went out with Setina into the dark night. To the 
hut where he lived it was only a few hundred feet. 

“The sky was overclouded. The snow cast into 
this darkness a sort of grayish obscurity. 

“Setina did not speak. He was whistling indis- 
tinctly some sort of march in quick tempo. We 
reached his house. He extended his hand to me. 


130 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“<T’d invite you in for a glass of cognac—but forgive 
me this time—I must write to my dear one,’ he said 
with a sort of forced quietness. ‘Apropos—tomorrow 
you'll assist me, will you not?’ And pressing my hand 
he disappeared. 

“Early in the morning of the next day we quickly 
went through the formalities of a duel. After long 
talking, explaining, pleading and threatening, the 
Lieutenant-Colonel gave his permission—that’s true— 
but on the whole it was, after all, only an underhand 
sort of affair, this forced duel. There was not enough 
powerful argument to satisfy a higher court, and yet 
the affair could not be settled otherwise than by the 
use of the revolver. You see, Setina could not easily 
manage a sword. His right hand was somewhat crip- 
pled from a ball which had struck him during our 
march over the Hercegovinian rocks. By the way, I 
recall how he often bit his lips until they bled when- 
ever there was changeable weather. That’s how much 
the wound burned and stung. 

“The casino was chosen as the scene of action. It 
couldn’t take place elsewhere—the circumstance, the 
unsettled condition of things, and all that. I was 
Setina’s second. 

“Two army revolvers were brought. 

“With a trembling hand I loaded them. I had an 
evil foreboding. 

“The tables and chairs were shoved into one corner. 
The casino throughout its length was cleared. From 


THEORIES OF HEROISM 131 


wall to wall, lengthwise of the room, it was eighteen 
paces. We measured fifteen paces and marked the 
distance with chalk. 

“The battle for life and death was to begin. 

“T looked at Setina. I scrutinized his features care- 
fully for a sign of fear, anxiety or some sort of misgiving. 
I am to some extent superstitious, and I would have 
foretold a bad ending. I saw nothing. He calmly 
placed himself in position and smiled blissfully, as if 
thoughts of his bride and of his mother were occupying 
him. At intervals he snapped the fingers of his left 
hand. 

“T took new hope. Setina was also a good shot—at 
that moment he was calm—what then could happen? 
Involuntarily I smiled at my former anxieties. 

““At the signal ‘three’ the rivals were to fire simul- 
taneously. 

“My last attempt at a reconciliation was rejected by 
both—by Martini wrathfully, by Setina with a smile. 

“The order sounded. Two flashes sped across the 
space of the room, which immediately filled with 
smoke. We heard a heavy fall and the clink of break- 
ing glass. 

“With arms outstretched Setina lay near the wall 
with his face to the ground. His forehead was shat- 
tered. Portions of the brain were on the wall. From 
his head the blood was spurting. He was dead. 

“His ball struck several feet above Martini’s head 
into a portrait of the emperor and broke the glass. 


132 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Heaven only knows how he aimed. I suspect that 
he purposely aimed high. 

“That is the end of the story. I think of it very 
often. But what is the use of it all, now? Oftentimes 
those two theories of heroism float through my head, 
and it seems to me that that combat was a duel of 
theories. Setina’s theory fell. Setina himself gave 
the greatest argument in proof of Martini’s theory. 
He died for a piece of folly, but he died like a hero. 
I constantly see him before me. Oh, that life was 
indeed worthy of a more beautiful end.” 

“And Martini?” I asked the Captain, much affected. 

“Martini?” he repeated as he spat disgustedly. 
“Martini is today the owner of a large estate. He 
married a rich girl whom he did not love and withdrew 
from the army. 

“And you poets,” he said, bitterly, after a pause, 
“find everywhere and depict always ‘poetic justice’! 
Look for it in real life! Find it—if you can! To be 
sure, poetry is only a pastime for wealthy people— 
and such must not have their nerves shaken by some 
harsh truth. You have everything smoothed out— 
everything lovely—it all fairly sparkles—scoundrels 
are punished and virtuous lovers secure each other— 
but in reality— 

“But lest I forget—Setina’s mother was stricken with 
paralysis on hearing of her son’s death. What became 
of his sweetheart I don’t know. She has probably 
become someone’s wife.” 


BOZENA VIKOVA-KUNETICKA 


(Born 1863 in Pardubice.) 


Bozpna Vikova, the wife of J. Vik, an official in one of 
the large sugar factories of Czechoslovakia, adopted 
as a pen-name “ Kunéticka,” after the place where she 
spent her childhood. 

The discrimination practised against womankind in 
the social and economic world forms the basic idea of 
many of her stories and novels. Her introduction to 
literature was, however, in sketches of the less vital 
but fully as painful, sordid, little tragedies of a woman’s 
life of which “Spiritless,”’ which follows, is an example. 
Mrs. Vikova-Kunétickaé has eight collections of short 
stories to her credit and six longer romances—“ Vdova 
po Chirurgovi” (The Surgeon’s Widow), “ Minulost”’ 
(The Past); and “Justyna Holdanova”’ and ‘“Med- 
rickaé,’”’ named for their chief characters; “ Vzpoura” 
(Revolt) and “Pan” (The Master). 

She stands as the champion of women for the preser- 
vation of their individuality against total submersion 
in the being of their husbands and she is often accused 
of extreme feminism. She never relinquishes for a 
moment her demand for equal personal purity in the 


parties to a marriage contract. 
133 


134 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


As a playwright her comedies, “‘Sbératelka Starozit- 
nosti’? (The Collector of Curiosities), “Cop” (The 
Braid), “‘ Neznama Pevnina” (Unknown Territory) and 
“PFtéZ” (Ballast), won favor and are frequently pro- 
duced. Her dramas, “V Jarmu” (In the Yoke), 
“Holtitka” (The Little Girl) and “V Bludisti” (In a 
Maze), are less successful as dramas than as feminist 
propaganda. 

Mrs. Vikova-Kunéticka was honored by her country- 
men by election to the Bohemian Parliament some ten 
years ago. The Austrian government with its cus- 
tomary indifference to all progressive ideas, under one 
pretext or another refused her permission to take her 
seat in the assembly. Her election at that time was 
the first example in central Europe of similar recog- 
nition for a woman. In the present congress of the 
Czechoslovak Republic there are twelve women 
representatives. 


SPIRITLESS 


BY BOZENA ViKOVA-KUNETICKA 


Tue first cold breeze of winter blew over the country 
and swept from a tree the first faded leaf. Could it 
indeed be true that the leaves had begun to wither so 
early? Yes, truly, for look! the leaf is sere and trem- 
bling and almost spasmodically curled up as if it had 
expired in the very act of its struggle with death. And 
now it flutters downward through the branches of the 
tree which is crowned with such an abundance of green 
foliage that it seems as if a cloud had settled on it or a 
mournful pall of the future which gave no promise of 
spring blossoms, songs of birds or whispers of lovers. 
The sad little leaf had indeed fallen in the midst of all 
the greenness spread underneath the blue heavens and 
lay upon the grass where the first dying blade shivered 
and sighed among its mates! 

“Alas! The leaves are fading!” cried a sweet young 
wife as she closed the window which she had opened a 
few moments previously in order that the fresh breath 
of morn might enter the sleeping-room. 

She had opened it thus after the departure of her 
husband every morning for the last four months and, 


filled with delightful intoxication, she had presented 
135 


136 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


herself to the rays of the sun, sighing in the very excess 
of her bliss. 

Today the chill breath of the wind rudely touched her 
hand and brow for the first time and caused her to 
experience a disagreeable sensation of disappointment, 
aye, of sorrow. 

The young wife turned away from the window with 
a sense of weariness which she herself scarcely compre- 
hended. She cast her eyes over the room which was still 
in disorder and filled with the breath of sleep. The air 
was heavy and the silence of the apartment productive 
of melancholy and gloom. She stepped to the mirror to 
begin her toilet and discovered that her eyes were tired- 
looking, without their usual luster, her lips were dry 
and compressed, the pink was gone from her cheeks 
and her hands were colorless, cold and strangely weak 
and limp. 

She meditated, thinking what kind of a ribbon to 
put into her hair. Long she pondered on what gown 
to wear and her thoughts finally reverted to the sub- 
ject of what to cook for dinner. 

She had reflected thus each day for the past four 
months, at first in a sort of enchanted spell, later with 
something akin to impatience and now as if from habit 
or a sense of duty. On the table still stood the cups 
out of which she and her husband had been drinking 
coffee, before he departed for his office. They had not 
conversed much either today or yesterday and had 
breakfasted with some degree of constraint, for they 


SPIRITLESS 137 


were intent on the necessity of eating, which fact had 
not been before apparent to them because—well, 
because—they had been in love. 

But now for a number of days both had sipped their 
coffee to the last drop and afterwards carefully wiped 
their lips as if feeling the need of some occupation. 
The husband had arisen, taken his hat, cane and some 
documents (the young wife noticed that he always took 
some sort of papers) and, kissing her on the lips, he 
departed for his office, while she had called after him 
with a bright voice: “Bring me something in your 
pocket, Otto! Don’t forget! Perhaps you'll see some 
of my favorite apples—some ‘MiSenska’ somewhere 
and you'll bring them.” 

He had answered briefly from the hallway, because 
he was in a hurry, “Why can’t you send Veronica?” 
(Veronica was the maid.) 

“But I want the apples from you, dear Otto,” the 
young wife had cried after him sadly. 

“T have many cares on my mind today,” he had 
replied. 

“What are they?” 

“Oh, you don’t understand such things.” 

“But you will bring my apple? Do you hear? 
Don’t forget!” 

Her last words reached her husband as his hand 
touched the knob of the house door and he did not 
reply to them because he did not wish to cause an un- 
necessary noise in the house. 


138 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


At noon he indeed brought his wife two, three or 
four of her favorite “MiSenska” apples and, laying 
them on the table, he asked at once for his dinner that 
he might again depart as soon as possible. 

They both felt ennui stealing on them. Heaven 
knows why they were tired. They slept soundly with- 
out dreams. Often when alone together they were 
silent and each was at a loss for a topic for conversa- 
tion. The young wife with the instinct born in every 
woman divined that the touch of her hands no longer 
aroused a thrill in her husband’s senses and that he 
kissed her without any tremors of pleasure, but rather 
in a hasty, careless, perfunctory manner. And she 
herself felt exhausted, languishing, discontented and 
saw no fixed purpose anywhere. 

What was the matter? 

She discovered as she gazed into the mirror that blue 
was unbecoming to her and, looking down at her hands, 
she saw that she had not trimmed her nails for some 
days. That was the only thing to which she could 
devote her attention, as everything in her household 
was bright, shining and new—every article was in its 
appointed place. The perfect order and exactness of 
it all was enough to drive one mad. 

It entered her mind that it might be a good plan to 
cook lentils today for dinner. She wanted a new 
fragrance in her kitchen—an odor to which it hereto- 
fore was unaccustomed, as she had not yet cooked 
lentils during her married life. 


SPIRITLESS 139 


She continued to look at herself in the glass stupidly 
and without interest. She had a beautifully molded 
figure, but her inspection of self did not impress her 
pleasurably or otherwise, because her goal was at- 
tained—her purpose achieved. She possessed charm- 
ing lips and large, clear eyes which she opened wide, 
as if in constant wonder. On her left hand shone the 
golden wedding-ring which proclaimed her a wife and 
which proved in her eyes that the object of her life was 
accomplished. She was married! Ah, well, at any 
rate she had no more worries about a husband such as 
she had at first heard expressed by her sisters when 
they had finished school and which she herself had felt 
when she donned her first long dress and realized that 
the most important period of her life had arrived. 

What a bore it had been at that time! To be com- 
pelled to wear a constant smile, encouraging and yet 
modest, to drop the eyes shyly, to bow her head, to 
meditate on what she should say in order to preserve 
the proprieties of what is allowable and what is not; 
to devote constant attention to every step, to every 
“Oh!” “Ah!” “Indeed!” “Certainly,” “Perhaps,” 
“Oh yes!” “By no means!” and all the expressions for 
which she would be held to account before the entire 
company and by which she proved her good breeding, 
knowledge, modesty and dignity in gracing her home 
in the future. How many times she had repeated, as 
she walked lightly by her pariner’s side through the 
dancing-hall which was warm to suffocation, “What an 


140 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


atmosphere! Does it not appear to you, sir, that the 
atmosphere is heavy?” Or else at picnics or outings 
while the sound of music filled the air and all around 
were cheerful and gay, she conventionally uttered her 
admiration thus: “How beautiful all this is! I love 
music, and especially do I love to listen to the notes of 
a flute!’ And all the time she was studying the words 
she would be called upon to utter next, in order that 
they should be both proper and agreeable. She would 
bow, extend the fingers of her hand in greeting, sit 
very severely upright in her chair and thank in a 
very cold manner all gentlemen who were of an un- 
certain or unprofessional occupation, as her code did 
not admit those without means to her favored circle. 

Ah, well! The golden band shines on her finger now, 
and with it all the past is banished, the present solved 
and the future ordained. 

“Well, then, lentils it shall be today.” Lentils are 
certainly not rare, but they will cause a change in the 
entire atmosphere of her clean, shiny household. As 
soon as he reaches the steps her husband will be met 
with the fragrance from the kitchen and will know that 
she is cooking lentils for his dinner. 

At the thought of her husband she felt a tiny wave of 
trouble in her soul. It seemed to her that she ought 
to have something new to say to him, something kind 
and affable, but she explained this desire as a conse- 
quence of the habit she had been trained in of always 
making an effort to be pleasant to him. 


SPIRITLESS 141 


She interpreted it all in her own charming little head 
as singular that she should allow herself any critical 
or censuring reflections which marriage itself abolishes 
and excludes. 

Was not everything in her matrimonial existence 
just as proper as her whole life and its well-ordered 
details had always been? 

Her first kiss given and accepted after a formal en- 
gagement, her tears at the altar which were in ac- 
cordance with strict etiquette, her toilettes, her edu- 
eation which she had received in a convent and which 
she had concluded with the reading of a few books of 
which it was perfectly proper to speak in polite society 
—all these had certainly been eminently proper. 
What more could she wish, what more could her hus- 
band demand? 

Some day she would become a mother, and then of 
course all would be changed. She would have enough 
to relate to her husband then—the child would laugh 
and cry and make its first little attempts, and later 
it would learn to walk, to pray, then would attend 
school and, in the vista of the future, she even beheld 
its marriage. 

All these things would occur in the same succession 
as they had occurred to her ancestors; it had not been 
different with her great-grandmother, her grandmother 
nor even with her mother. Her mother, to be sure, 
had never felt any uneasiness regarding her husband 
and how to interest him. Her father was an honest 


142 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


merchant in linen goods and her mother helped him 
make sales in the shop. No time remained for her 
to have similar reflections, and her conversations with 
her husband always appeared important and _ in- 
tensely interesting to both. Their business brought 
them a tidy income and assured their daughters a 
handsome dowry. 

Ah! How well she remembered the little shop under 
the arcade into which the daughters were never allowed 
to enter lest there might appear to be a connection 
between the shop and their sweet little faces which 
were only partially hidden by the rich veils. They 
were not meant to be salesgirls, for they were destined 
to be young ladies of the most cultured and most select 
circles of society. 

* * * * * * * 

The young wife laid aside the blue ribbon and 
fastened on a pink one instead. She discovered that 
it really was much more becoming to her, and as a 
result she felt a corresponding degree of satisfaction. 

She walked out of the bedroom, gave her hand to the 
angular maid to be kissed and passed on through the 
remaining rooms in which the best of order prevailed. 

There really was nothing to think of! 

She remembered again that her husband would soon 
arrive and once more experienced a disquieting un- 
easiness. What would they talk about today at dinner? 
Perhaps he does not like lentils and will be vexed when 
Veronica brings the dish on the table. Perhaps, how- 


SPIRITLESS 143 


ever, he may like them and then he will be gay. After 
all, what of it? They must talk of something! Maybe 
one of the apples will be decayed and she will show 
him the worm and cry, “Oh! oh! oh! dear Otto, a 
worm! Such a big, long worm!’ and he of course will 
step on it and thus conversation will ensue. 

* 2k * * * * 

Alas! the apple was not wormy and her husband did 
not indeed like lentils, and during dinner he was some- 
what morose, at any rate dull and lazy in thought 
and act. 

He cleaned his teeth for a long time with a tooth- 
pick which she herself had fashioned for him by winding 
strings of small beads around a tapering quill, according 
to a pattern she had seen at the convent. 

She recalled that this morning she had seen the first 
faded leaf fall from a tree. “Just think, Otto, the 
leaves have begun to fall,”’ she said, gazing at him with 
her large, clear eyes which hid nothing from those 
returning her gaze. 

“Well, that’s excellent!’ cried her husband. 

“Why ‘excellent,’ Otto dear?”’ 

“Because the falling of the leaves ushers in the season 
when, as before, I shall go among my old friends to 
spend the long winter evenings.” 

“Where is it you will go ‘among friends’?” 

“Oh, down to the inn for a space of two short hours. 
You have nothing against it, have you, love?” 

His young wife reflected whether or not it was 


144 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


proper for her husband to do what he had just pro- 
posed. She reflected that the husband of one of her 
friends and other men she knew of often went “among 
friends”’ to talk over things of which their wives had 
never heard in the convents in which they had been 
brought up. 

Her mind was considerably pacified by this reflection, 
and so she answered with a smile, “Why, no, Otto, 
dear; I have nothing against it! Why, just think, 
what could we find to talk about together all those 
long evenings to come?”’ 

And that day when the first yellow leaf fell from the 
tree, crowned with so much greenness—for the first 
time, but not the last—the young wife sat at home— 
alone. 


BOZENA NEMCOVA 


(Born February 5, 1820, in Vienna; died January 20, 
1862, in Prague.) 


Tue first of the realistic writers of Bohemia was 
Bozena Némcova, who stands unqualifiedly foremost 
among the women authors of her nation. Némcova 
» spent her childhood in the foothill region of Ratibofice 
on the Silesian border, where is laid the scene of her 
best-known and most-loved novel of country life, 
“Babitka”’ (The Grandmother), which has gone into 
dozens of editions and has been translated into many 
different languages. Frances Gregor, author of “The 
Story of Bohemia,”’ made the English translation of 
this beautiful story, which Némcova admitted was a 
picture of her own life and that of her brothers and 
sisters under the sheltering love of one of the dearest 
and most typical characters in Czech literature—“ the 
grandmother.”’ Not a trace of bitterness appears in 
the entire novel, though it was written when Némcovaé 
was experiencing nothing but hardship and sorrow in a 
most unhappy married life, and after death had re- 
moved her chief joy—her eldest son, Hynek. A bride 


at seventeen, Némcové, whose maiden name was 
145 


146 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Barbora Panklova, cultivated her genius, which had 
already shown itself, under the guidance of literary 
men with whom she came in contact in Prague, where 
her husband, an official in the Austrian government 
service, was stationed for a while. Through her hus- 
band’s necessarily frequent removals she became well 
acquainted with various parts of Bohemia and also 
made five extended sojourns in Slovensko (Slovakia), 
where she studied the people and collected the cus- 
toms, traditions, tales and folk lore in general which she 
later used untouched in her collections of fairy tales 
and legends, or wove into short stories and novels 
whose characters and plots were her own creation. 
Then, too, her intimate knowledge of the people 
among whom she lived and sought her friends aided 
materially in giving her a true insight into their souls 
as well as a thorough knowledge of the dialects pre- 
dominating in each section which she later took as the 
background for her stories. 

Némceova’s initial literary efforts (1844-1848) were 
made in the field of lyric poetry which expressed a 
deeply patriotic feeling. She felt that women should 
participate in the nationalistic struggles of the 
Czechs who were emerging from two centuries of the 
tomb after their crushing defeat at the Battle of 
White Mountain in 1620. All her later writings like- 
wise breathe her Slavonic sympathies. 

Very soon after her poems began to appear she 
was urged by Karel Jaromir Erben, one of the fore- 





BOZENA NEMCOVA 147 


most folklorists of the day, to put into literary form the 
great wealth of fairy tales, fables, legends and other 
lore she had been gathering. Her response was the 
splendid collection entitled “‘ National Fairy Tales and 
Legends” which was soon followed by her “Slovak 
Fairy Tales and Legends.” Her discussions and 
descriptions of the customs and manners of the groups 
she learned to know throughout Bohemia and North 
Hungary—chiefly in the Slovak districts—are of 
real ethnographical value. 

Némecova’s first novels, ““Obrazek Vesnicky”’ (A Vil- 
lage Picture), ““Dlouhé Noc” (The Long Night) and 
*““Domaci Nemoc”’ (Home Sickness), belong to the same 
period (1846-1847), when she was but twenty-six. 
Her next novelettes, “BaruSka’’ (Barbara) and 
“Sestry”’ (The Sisters), touch on social questions for 
which she suggests, unobtrusively, to be sure, a solu- 
tion. A most ingenious plot with a pleasing and 
unusual romance characterizes her novel, “Karla” 
(Carla). In the same year, 1855, she wrote and pub- 
lished her masterpiece, “Babiéka.’”’ In rapid succes- 
sion came “Diva Bara’’ (Bewitched Bara); “Chyze 
Pod Horami”’ (The Cottage on the Mountainside), de- 
picting the beautiful customs and fresh, unspoiled 
character of the Slovak mountaineers; ‘‘Pohorské 
Vesnice”’ (The Mountain Village), a story of the 
Bohemian Forest region; ““Dobry Clovék” (The Good 
Man); “Chudi Lidé” (Poor People) and “V Zamku a 
Podzaméi”’ (In the Castle and Below), which presents 


148 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


the eternal conflict of wealth and poverty, high estate 
and low, and is a direct indictment of society. 

The invigorating wholesomeness of Némcova’s sto- 
ries agreeably penetrates the consciousness of the 
reader, who is refreshed and inspired by their simple 
nobility without feeling that he has been “preached 
at.” Némcova’s method is marked by a simplicity, 
untrammeled directness, and a conviction of truth, 
which enlist one’s interest immediately. The tradi- 
tional “happy ending” which the American craves and 
insists on in most of his novels and plays has the 
nearest Slav counterpart in Némcova’s thorough op- 
timism, her absolute refusal to be cynical or bitter. 
Somehow, despite the inevitable sorrows which the 
truth of life forces her to depict, she leads her characters 
from “the slough of despond” to a logical “‘consumma- 
tion devoutly to be wished.” This trait is the more 
remarkable in view of the fact that all the romance and 
joy was crushed out of her own life, which became a 
daily sordid struggle for bread for her family and her- 
self, especially after the death of her son and the loss 
by her husband, who was never sympathetic with her 
ideals, of his position under the government. Ném- 
cova has created many faithfully drawn Czech and 
Slovak characters, her women especially being typical 
of their nation. She writes with a vigor, picturesque- 
ness and purity, combined with the characteristic quiet 
Slav humor and poetic idealism, which never fail to 
appeal. 


BOZENA NEMCOVA 149 


While “Bewitched Bara” is one of her earlier stories, 
it nevertheless represents her manner and her choice of 
material. Superstition is now by no means generally 
characteristic of the Czechs and Slovaks, but at the 
time Némcova wrote her story, about sixty-five years 
ago, rationalistic teachings were not as widely dis- 
seminated as now. This story had the effect of weaning 
the people from much ignorant credulity and beliefs 
in omens, signs and the power of so-called supernatural 
beings. 

Némcova has evolved a character at once strong, 
beautiful and independent in the person of the daunt- 
less Bara who through her own investigations—she was 
practically self-trained—had freed herself from all the 
superstitious fears which enchained the souls of nearly 
all the others in the village. Then, too, Némcova 
clearly shows here the value in education of nature 
and natural methods, a subject she introduces, to- 
gether with other social reform tendencies, in her 
“Pohorské Vesnice” (The Mountain Village), which 
she regarded as her best work, placing it above her 
“Babitka,”’ which has been far more widely loved. 
The friendship of the two girls, Bara and El&ka, whose 
social advantages were so widely different, is a whole- 
some, happy picture. For the sake of her devotion for 
El&Ska, Bara carries out the traditional custom of young 
girls in Bohemia who seek to know whence their 
lover will come, by casting wreaths of flowers into a 
stream before sunrise of the Day of St. John the 


150 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Baptist. She herself does not believe in the custom, 
but weaves and throws her wreath to please ElSka, 
who in the secure refuge of Bara’s affection confides 
her deepest feeling to the one understanding soul. 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 


BY BOZENA NEMCOVA 


I 


VesTEc is a large village and has a church and school 
also, Near the church is the parsonage; beside it the 
sexton’s house. The mayor also lives in the center 
of the community. On the very edge of the hamlet 
stands the little cottage of the village herdsman. 
Beyond the cottage extends a long valley surmounted 
on both sides by hills grown over mainly with pines. 
Here and there is a clearing or green meadow with 
sparsely growing white-barked, bright-leaved birches, 
those maidens of the tree world which nature had per- 
mitted to grow there to cheer up the dismal pines and 
firs and the somber oaks and beeches. In the middle 
of the valley among the meadows and fields flowed a 
river directly past the herdsman’s cottage. On its 
banks at this point grew an alder and a willow. 

The village herdsman was called Jacob and lived with 
his daughter, Bara, in the last cottage. Jacob was in 
his sixties and Bara was his first-born and only child. 
To be sure he had wished for a son to inherit his name, 
but when Bara grew older he did not regret that she was 


a girl. She was dearer to him than a son and many 
151 


152 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


times he thought to himself: “Even though she is a 
girl, she is my own. [I shall die like a man and I have, 
as a father, a stepping-stone to heaven.” 

Jacob was born in the village. Being an orphan, he 
had to go into service from childhood. He served as 
goose-herder, drover, cowherd, neat-herder, as hostler 
and ploughman until he reached the highest degree of 
the rank, becoming the community herdsman. That 
offered a good living and he could now marry. 

He was given a cottage to live in to his death. The 
peasants brought him wood to his very courtyard. He 
could keep a cow. Bread, butter, eggs, milk, vege- 
tables, of all these he received supplies each week. 
Each year, linen enough for three shirts and for two 
pairs of drawers was supplied to him, and, in addition, 
two pair of shoes, corduroys, a jacket, a broad-brimmed 
hat, and every other year a fur coat and a heavy blan- 
ket. Besides that on each holy day and church feast 
day he received pastry and his wages, so that even at 
the parsonage they did not fare better. 

In short it was a good position and Jacob, though 
he was lacking in good looks, uncommunicative and 
morose, could nevertheless have gotten a wife, but he 
was in no hurry. In the summer he made the excuse 
that he had no time to look around among the girls 
because it was pasturing season. In the winter he was 
busy carving out wooden shoes, and in the evenings 
when the lads sought out the society of their girl 
friends he preferred to sit a while at the inn. When 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 153 


it happened that a wife would come to the inn for her 
husband, Jacob always congratulated himself that 
there was no one to come looking for him. It never 
bothered him that they poked fun at him, saying he’d 
be an old bachelor and that old bachelors must, after 
death, stay in purgatory and tie sand into bundles. 
Thus passed his fortieth year. Then someone told 
him that should he die childless he could not get to 
heaven, that children are steps up to heaven. Some- 
how that worked itself into Jacob’s brain and when the 
thought had thoroughly matured he went to the town 
mayor and married his maid, Bara. 

Bara was a pretty girl in her youthful years. The 
boys liked to dance with her, and several of them used 
to go a-wooing her, but they were none of them the 
marrying sort. When Jacob asked her to become his 
wife she figured that she had three decades behind her, 
and though she was not particularly in love with 
Jacob she gave her promise to him, thinking to herself, 
“Better one’s own sheaf than someone else’s stack.” 
So they were married and the mayor prepared a fine 
wedding for them. 

A year later a girl child was born to them whom 
they named Bara after her mother. Jacob scratched 
his head a little when they told him it was a girl and 
not a boy, but the midwife consoled him by telling 
him she resembled him as closely as one egg resembles 
another. 

Some days after the birth of the girl a mishap oc- 


154 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


curred in Jacob’s home. A neighbor woman stopped 
in to see the convalescent and found her lying near the 
fireplace half dead. She gave the alarm, and the 
women came running hither, including the midwife, 
who resuscitated Bara. They learned from her that 
she was cooking her husband’s dinner and, forgetting 
that a woman, after confinement, must never emerge 
from her room precisely at noon or after the Angelus, 
remained standing in the kitchen under the chimney 
and went on cooking. And then, she said, something 
rustled past her ears like an evil wind, spots floated 
before her eyes, something seemed to pull her by the 
hair and felled her to the floor. 

“That was the noon-witch!” they all cried. 

“Let us see if she has not exchanged a strange child 
for your Bara,” one of them suggested and ran to the 
cradle. At once they all crowded around and took 
the baby from the cradle, unwrapped and examined it. 
One of them said: “It is a changeling, it is, surely! 
It has such big eyes!’ Another cried, “She has a 
large head!’ A third passed judgment on the child 
as having short legs, and each had something different 
to say. The mother was frightened, but the midwife 
after conscientiously examining the babe decided that 
it was Bara’s very own child. Nevertheless, more than 
one of the old gossips continued to insist that the child 
was a changeling left there by the witch who appears 
at midday. 

After that mishap Jacob’s wife somehow never re- 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 155 


covered and in a few years after continual illness she 
died. Jacob remained alone with his little girl. Re- 
gardless of the fact that they urged him to marry again 
on account of the young child, he did not wish to do so. 
He watched over her as over a little lambkin, all alone, 
and well indeed he cared for her. When she grew up 
the schoolmaster sent word that Jacob should send 
her to school, and though Jacob regarded reading 
and writing as unnecessary, nevertheless he heeded. 
All winter Bara attended school, but in the spring when 
the pasturing began and also work in the field he could 
not get along without her. From springtime until 
fall the school, for the greater part of the week, was 
closed on a latch, the schoolmaster and the children 
also working in the fields, each according to his strength. 
The next winter Bara could not attend school any more, 
for she had to learn to spin and weave. 

When Bara reached the age of fifteen not a girl in 
the entire village could equal her in strength and size. 
Her body was large-boned, of strong muscles, but of 
perfect symmetry. She was as agile as a trout. Her 
complexion was dark brown, in part naturally and in 
part due to the sun and wind, for, even in the heat 
of summer, never would she veil her face as did the 
village girls. Her head seemed to be large, but that 
was due to her mass of hair, black as a raven and long 
and coarse as horsehair. She had a low forehead, a 
short, blunt nose, a mouth that was rather large, with 
full lips, but healthy and as red as blood. Her teeth 


156 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


were strong and always glisteningly white. Her most 
beautiful feature was her eyes, and precisely on account 
of them she had to suffer much mockery from people. 
They nicknamed her, saying she had a “bull’s eye.” 
She did indeed have large eyes, unusually so and as 
blue as the cornflower, with long black lashes. Above 
her eyes arched thick black eyebrows. 

When Bara frowned her face resembled the sky 
covered with black clouds, from which only a bit of 
blue shone forth. But she seldom wore a frown, except 
when the youngsters called her names, saying she had 
bull’s eyes. Then her eyes flashed with anger and often 
she would burst into tears. But Jacob would always 
say: “You foolish girl, why do you mind them? I, 
too, have big eyes. And even if they are ‘bull’s eyes,’ 
that’s nothing bad. Why, the dumb animals can look 
at a man far more kindly than those human beings 
there!’ At this he would always point with his stick 
towards the village. In later years, however, when 
she was stronger, none of the youngsters dared to hurt 
her, for she gave quick payment for every affront. 
Strong boys were unable to conquer her in a fight, for 
when mere strength failed her she used all sorts of 
manceuvers or helped herself by her nimbleness. In 
that way she won peace for herself. 

Bara had so many unusual characteristics that it was 
not to be wondered at that the neighbors talked about 
her. Unable to interpret such a nature, the women 
began again to assert that she was, after all, a “change- 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 157 


ling,” and if not, that the noon-witch had most un- 
doubtedly taken her under her power. By this utter- 
ance all the actions of the girl were explained and 
excused, but as a consequence the villagers either 
avoided or feared her and only a few souls truly loved 
her. Whoever thought to anger her had only to say 
“Bewitched Bara!” But he who thought that this 
particular nickname offended her worse than any 
other was mistaken. 

To be sure she had heard tales of noon-witches, eve- 
ning specters, of the water-man, the fire-glow man who 
lives in the forest, and about the will-o’-the-wisps, the 
devil and ghosts. She had heard of all of these among 
the children, but she feared none of them. While she 
was still small her father used to take her out with 
him to the pasture and there she played the whole live- 
long day with her dog, LiSaj, who, next to her father, 
was her dearest playmate. Her father wasted few 
words on her, but sat and carved wooden shoes, raising 
his eyes at times to look at the herd, and if it were not 
all together, he would send LiSaj to return the cow or 
heifer, which the dog would always do, according to 
orders. When necessary, he himself would get up and 
make several circuits of the herd. When Bara was 
larger she accompanied LiSaj on his rounds, and 
if a cow tried to sniff at her, LiSaj would at once drive 
it away. As she grew older, in case of need she would 
often drive the herd out for her father. The cows 
knew her voice as well as Jacob’s horn. Even the 


158 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


wicked bull, of whom stalwart boys were afraid, obeyed 
when Bara shook her fist at him. 

When Jacob wished to take the herd out to wade or 
to drive them across the river he would place Bara on 
the back of one of the cows and say, “Hold on!” 
He himself would swim across after the herd. Once 
Bara was not holding tight and slipped off into the 
water. LiSaj pulled her out by the skirt and her 
father gave her a good scolding. She asked her father 
then what a person must do in order to swim. Her 
father showed her how to move arms and legs, and 
Bara remembered it and tried to hold herself above the 
water until she learned how to swim. She enjoyed 
swimming so much that in the summertime both morn- 
ing and evening she would go in bathing and was able 
not only to keep her head above water, but to swim 
with her head under water. However, no one beside 
her father knew of her ability in this respect. From 
dawn until ten o’clock at night there was not a time 
when Bara had not gone in swimming, yet she had never 
seen the “‘water-man,” and therefore she had no faith 
in his existence nor did she fear the water. 

In broad midday and also at full midnight Bara had 
been out under the clear skies and had seen neither 
noon nor night specters. In the summer she liked 
to sleep in the stall beside the open dormer window, 
and yet nothing unusual had ever appeared before her 
to frighten her. 

Once when she was out herding and was lying under 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 159 


a tree at the edge of the wood with LiSaj near her she 
recalled the tale of the traveler who, like her, lay under 
a tree in the forest and wished himself in a palace 
beside a beautiful princess, and to attain his desire 
wanted to sell himself to the devil. Barely did his 
thoughts turn to the devil when the devil stood before 
him 

“What would I wish for if the devil appeared 
before me now?” Bara asked herself, patting LiSaj’s 
head. 

“Hm! she smiled. “I'd ask him to give me such a 
headkerchief that when I’d wrap myself in it I'd be 
invisible and when I’d say, ‘Take me to such and such 
a place,’ I'd be there at once. I'd first of all want 
to be with ElSka.”” And she thought hard a long, long 
time, but it was quiet everywhere, not even a tree 
rustling. Finally her curiosity gave her no peace and 
she called out softly, “Mr. Devil!” 

Not a sound in response. 

Then a little louder and more and more loudly until 
her voice re-echoed far and wide, “Devil, Mr. Devil!” 
Among the herd thé black heifer raised its head, and 
when the voice sounded again it separated from the 
rest of the cattle and ran merrily to the forest. Then 
LiSaj leaped up, intending to return the heifer to the 
herd as was his duty. The black heifer stood still. 

Bara burst into gay laughter. “Leave it alone, 
LiSaj. The heifer is obedient and thought I was call- 
ing it.” She jumped up, patted the “devil” on the 


160 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


neck and from that time believed no more in tales of 
demons. 

Near the wood, several hundred steps beyond the 
river, was a cemetery. After prayers the people did 
not like to go in that direction. There were many 
weird tales of dead men who roved about at midnight. 
But Bara passed that way many a time at night and 
never yet had she met with any fearful experience. 
She did not, therefore, believe that the dead arise 
and dance on their own graves or go about scaring 
people. 

When the young people went out into the forest to 
gather strawberries or juniper berries and came upon a 
snake there was always a great scurrying. If the snake 
lifted its head and showed its fangs they all ran to the 
water, believing if they could reach it first the snake 
would be deprived of all power. 

Bara never ran away. She was not afraid of a 
wicked bull, and therefore much less of a snake or a 
scorpion. If it lay in her path, she drove it away. 
If it refused to move and defended itself, she killed it. 
If it did not obstruct her path, she left it alone. 

In short, Bara did not know fear or dread. Even 
when the thunder rolled and the storm poured forth 
its wrath over the valley Bara never trembled. On 
the contrary, when the villagers closed their windows 
and doors, lighted the consecrated Candlemas candles 
and prayed in fear and trembling lest the Lord be angry 
with them, Bara delighted in standing out on the 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 161 


boundary ridge the better to view the horizon spread 
out before her eyes. 

Jacob often said to her, “I don’t understand, girl, 
what joy you can have to look into the heavens when 
God is angry.” 

Just the same sort of joy I have as when he smiles,” 
she answered. ‘“‘Just see, father, that fire—how beau- 
tiful it is amid the black clouds!’ 

“Don’t point!” shrieked Jacob warningly. “God’s 
messenger will break off your finger! Efe who does not 
fear the tempest has no fear of the Lord, don’t you 
know that?” 

“ElSka of the parsonage once read me out of a book 
that we must not fear a storm as if it were the wrath 
of God, but that we should admire in it His divine 
power. The priest always preaches that God is only 
good and is love wholly. How could it be that He is 
so often angry at us? I love God and so I’m not 
afraid of His messenger.” 

Jacob disliked long speeches and so he left Bara 
to her own thinking. The neighbors, however, seeing 
the girl’s fearlessness and that nothing evil occurred to 
her, were all the more convinced that she was a child 
protected by some supernatural power. 

Besides her father, El8ka and Josifek, who were of 
her own age, were the only ones who loved her. 
Josifek was the son of the sexton, El8ka was the niece 
of the parish priest. Josifek was a lad of slender build, 
pale, golden-haired, good-hearted, but very timid. 


162 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Bara was a head taller than he, and when there was a 
fight, Josifek always hid behind her skirts, for Bara 
always courageously took his part against the boys for 
whom he alone was no match. For that Josifek loved 
her very dearly, brought her dried apples and every 
Saturday a white wafer-cake. One Sunday when Bara 
was still quite small he brought her home with him, 
intending to show her a little altar he had there and 
how well he could act the part of a priest. They 
went along hand in hand with LiSaj lagging on 
behind. 

The doors of all the peasant homes closed with a 
latch and at night were bolted. At the parsonage the 
iron-cased oak doors were always locked and whoever 
wished to enter had to ring. At the sexton’s there 
was also a bell, just as at the parsonage, and often the 
village youths, when passing, would open the door a 
little in order to hear the bell ring and the sexton’s 
wife scold. When she had had her fill of railing at 
them they yelled, “Vixen, vixen!” at her. 

When Bara with Josifek entered the door and the 
bell sounded, the sexton’s wife ran out into the passage- 
way. The end of her long nose was pinched up in a 
pair of spectacles and she cried out in a snuffling voice, 
“Who is this you’re bringing with you?” Josifek stood 
as if scalded, dropped his eyes and was silent. Bara 
also looked down and said nothing. But behind the 
sexton’s wife came running the tom-cat and, catching 
sight of LiSaj, began to bristle up its back, sputter and 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 163 


glare furiously. LiSaj began to growl, then barked 
and started after the cat. The cat leaped up on the 
cupboard and when LiSaj tried to follow it even there 
it jumped up on the shelves among the pans. That 
was as far as it could reach, but every hair stood on 
end with anger. LiSaj continued to leap up awkwardly 
on the shelving and barked deafeningly. The sexton 
ran out to learn the cause of the commotion, and 
beheld the foes in combat and his furious wife. 
He himself flew into a rage and, opening the door, 
shrieked at the children, “Get out of here right 
away with that beast and stay where you came 
from!” 

Bara didn’t let herself be ordered twice, and, calling 
LiSaj whom the sexton struck smartly with a cane, she 
ran as if from a fire. Josifek called her back, but she 
shook her head, saying, “Even if you’d give me a 
heifer, PIl never go back to your house.” And she 
kept her word, even though Josifek persistently pleaded 
and promised that his mother would be glad to see 
her if she’d leave the dog at home. Never would she 
consent to step in the house again, and from that time, 
too, she lost all respect and love for everything smack- 
ing of the sexton—with the exception of Josifek. She 
had always thought the sexton on an equality with the 
priest and had the greatest esteem for him, for he 
dressed like the priest and in church had everything 
under his command. When he boxed the ears of some 
mischievous boy in church there dared not be even a 


164 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


murmur, and the neighbors, when they wanted some- 
thing of the priest, always stopped first for advice at 
the sexton’s. 

“The sexton must indeed be a worthy person,” the 
girl had always thought, but from the time that he so 
rudely showed her the door and struck LiSaj so 
smartly that, whimpering, he hopped on three legs all 
the way home, she always thought to herself, “You 
are not good at all,’’ whenever she met him. 

How different it all was when Elska took Bara home 
with her to the parsonage every Thursday and Sunday. 
The moment the doorbell rang the maid would open 
the door and admit the two girls and also LiSaj, for 
their own dog got along well with him. Softly the two 
girls would go to the servants’ hall, climb up over the 
oven where Elka had her toys and dolls. The priest, 
who was an old man, used to sit on a bench at the table, 
and with his snuff-box and blue pocket handkerchief 
lying before him always dozed with his head leaning 
against the wall. Only once had he been awake; and 
when Bara ran to him to kiss his hand he patted her 
head, saying: “You’re a good little girl. Run away 
and play together now, my little maids!” 

Also Miss Pepinka, the priest’s sister, was kind. 
She had no extensive conversation with Bara, al- 
though she liked to talk a good deal to the neighbor 
women, but she always gave her a big piece of bread 
with honey or a large muffin for lunch, larger than to 
Elka. Miss Pepinka was a short, little person who 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 165 


was taking on fat with the years. She was rosy, had a 
mole on her chin and rather weepy eyes, but in her 
youthful years, as she said herself, she used to be 
pretty, to which statement the sexton always nodded 
assent. She wore a long dress after the fashion of city 
women, with a short waist, an immense apron with 
large pockets, and at her side always dangled a bunch 
of keys. Her gray hair was always smooth, and on 
week days she wore a brown headkerchief with a yellow 
border, whereas on Sundays the heudkerchief was 
yellow with a brown border. Miss Pepinka usually 
was busy with something around the house or in the 
field, spinning or, with her glasses on her nose, patching 
things. Sunday afternoons after dinner she, too, 
would doze a little, and after vespers she would play 
cards with her brother and the sexton. She rarely 
addressed him as “brother” but usually “‘Reverend 
Sir.” 

Miss Pepinka was the head of the house and what she 
wanted was carried out. What she said counted as 
unmistakable truth in the house, and when she 
favored anyone, all favored him. 

Elska was the pet of both Miss Pepinka and the 
reverend father, and what El8ka wished, that, too was 
desired by Miss Pepinka. Whom El&ka loved was in 
Pepinka’s good graces. Therefore Bara never received 
an unkind glance at the parsonage and Likaj, too, was 
tolerated. The sexton, who could not endure dogs, 
often tried to pat LiSaj, in order to curry favor, 


166 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


but Lisaj, who could not bear the sexton, invariably 
snarled at him. 

Bara was wholly happy when she could be at the 
parsonage. In the rooms everything fairly glistened. 
There were beds piled with fine bedding to the very 
ceiling, many beautiful pictures, and inlaid cabinets. 
In the garden were many flowers, vegetables and fine 
fruit. In the yard was poultry of all kinds; in the 
stable, cattle which it was a pleasure to look at. The 
herdsman Jacob had the greatest delight in the cattle 
belonging to the parish. And in the servants’ hall, 
over the oven, what a quantity of toys! ElSka never 
mixed up mud cakes nor played with brick dust and 
lime. She always had real cooking things and what 
was prepared was also eaten. 

Why shouldn’t Bara have been happy in such a 
home? But to her, ElSka herself was far dearer than 
anything else. Oftentimes it seemed to her that 
she loved ElSka more than she did her own father. 
If ElSka had lived even in the flax-house, Bara would, 
nevertheless, have loved to be with her. ElSka never 
once laughed at Bara and when she had anything she 
always shared it with her. Often she would throw 
her arms around Bara’s neck and say, “Bara, I like 
you so very much.” 

“She likes me so much, and yet she is so beautiful 
and belongs at the parsonage. All the people address 
her as ‘you’ and not ‘thou,’ even the schoolmaster and 
sexton. All others mock at me,” Bara repeated to 


‘pe 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 167 


herself, and in spirit she always embraced and kissed 
El&ka for her friendship, though in reality she timidly 
refrained from expressing, as she longed to do, her 
fervent feeling. 

When they were running about on the meadow and 
ElSka’s braid became loosened Bara pleaded: ‘ ElSka, 
let me braid it. You have hair as fine as flax. I love 
to braid it.” At her willing consent, Bara delighted to 
play with the soft strands of hair and admire its 
beauty. After plaiting it, she pulled down her own 
braid and, placing it beside ElSka’s, said, “What a dif- 
ference.” True enough, El8ka’s hair beside Bara’s re- 
sembled gold beside hardened steel. But yet ElSka 
was not satisfied with it and wished she might have hair 
that was black like Bara’s. 

Sometimes when ElSka came over to Bara’s and 
they were certain that no one saw them they went in 
bathing. ElSka, however, was timid, and no matter how 
much Bara assured her that nothing would happen and 
that she’d hold her and teach her to swim, still she 
would never go into water deeper than to her knees. 
After their bath Bara liked to wipe ElSka’s feet with 
her coarse apron and, clasping the tiny white feet in 
her strong palms, she kissed them and said with laugh- 
ter: “Lord, but your feet are tender and small! What 
would happen if you had to walk barefoot. Look!” 
she added, comparing her own sun-browned, bruised 
feet full of callouses with ElSka’s dainty white ones. 

“Doesn’t it hurt you?” asked ElSka, rubbing her 


168 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


hand on the hard lower surface of Bara’s feet with 
sympathetic touch. 

“Until the skin became like sole-leather my feet used 
to hurt, but now I don’t even feel fire beneath them,” 
Bara answered with pride, and ElSka wondered greatly. 
Thus the two girls enjoyed each other. Often Josifek 
joined them, and when they were preparing feasts he 
had to bring what was needed and did the slicing and 
the grating. When they played wolf, he had to be the 
lamb, and when the game was barter, he had to haul 
the pots and kettles. But he never objected, and liked 
best to play with the girls. 

The twelfth year passed over the heads of the chil- 
dren and there was an end to their childish joys. The 
sexton put Josifek in a school in the city, as he wanted 
to make a priest of him. Miss Pepinka took Elka to 
Prague to a rich, childless aunt, in order that ElSka 
should learn city manners and that the aunt should not 
forget her country relatives. Bara remained alone 
with her father and LiSaj. 


It 


Life in the rural districts flows along softly without 
noise or rustle, like a meadow brook. Three years had 
passed since ElSka had gone away to Prague. At 
first neither Miss Pepinka nor the priest could become 
accustomed to her absence and were very lonely for 
her. When, however, the sexton reminded them why 
they had sent ElSka from home, Miss Pepinka always 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 169 


said, very sententiously: “My dear Vléek, man must 
not live for today, we must think for the future. We— 
God granting—will get through life somehow, but 
ElSka is young and that we must keep in mind. To 
save money—how in the name of the dear God can we 
do it—when we have none! Some feather-beds, her 
dowry—that is all she will have as an inheritance from 
us—and that is very little. The world takes note of 
these (and at this Pepinka opened her palm and with 
her other hand went through the pantomime of count- 
ing coins)—and her Prague aunt has countless numbers 
of them. Maybe El&ka will win her favor. It is only 
for her own good that we are leaving her there.” 

The sexton acquiesced in every particular. 

The Prague aunt had been ill for years. From the 
time of her husband’s death she always wrote to her 
brother-in-law and sister-in-law that she had been kept 
alive only by medicines and if her physician did not 
thoroughly understand her constitution she would long 
ago be lying in the holy field. Suddenly, however, 
ElSka wrote that her aunt had a new physician who had 
advised that she take a daily bath in cold water, walk 
a great deal, eat and drink heartily, and that she would 
soon be cured. Her aunt had obeyed and was now 
as healthy as a lynx. 

“Hm, such new-fangled treatments. If that’s the 
case, ElSka can come home at once.”’ All Miss Pepinka 
ordered was faithfully carried out. That very day the 
hostler had to pull out the carriage from the shed and 


170 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


take it to the wheelwright. Miss Pepinka, having de- 
cided to herself escort ElSka, brought out her hat from 
the small chamber for inspection to see if it had suf- 
fered any damage. Yes, Miss Pepinka also had a hat 
which she had received ten years ago when she was in 
Prague, from that same aunt. In the village of 
Vestec no one had ever beheld her in it, but when she 
went on a pilgrimage with her brother to the deanery 
in a nearby town she put it on, and now when she was 
going to Prague she took it along in order, she said, 
not to disgrace the aunt by wearing a kerchief on her 
head. 

The next day the carriage was repaired and the third 
day Pepinka ordered that it be well greased and the 
horses shod. On the fourth day she ceased household 
duties and sent for Bara to look after things during her 
absence. On the fifth day early in the morning they 
piled into the carriage fodder for the horses, food for 
the coachman and also for Miss Pepinka herself, a 
basket of eggs, a jar of butter and similar gifts for the 
aunt, the box with the hat, a bundle of clothes, and 
after holy mass Miss Pepinka herself, after long 
parting injunctions, stowed herself away inside. The 
coachman whipped up the horses and, putting them- 
selves in God’s hands, they started on their journey. 
Whoever saw the antiquated carriage which resembled 
a winged caldron hanging amid four wheels doffed his 
hat from afar, although Miss Pepinka herself, wrapped - 
in numerous shawls, in the depths of the vehicle 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 171 


among all sorts of articles, including a pile of hay 
towering above her, was wholly invisible. But the 
peasants recognized the equipage, their fathers, too, 
had known it, and they used to say among themselves 
that that carriage remembered Zizka. 

No one more ardently looked forward to ElSka’s 
arrival than Bara. No one thought so fervently of 
her, no one spoke of her oftener. When she had no 
one to talk with she conversed with LiSaj and promised 
him good times when ElSka would return and asked 
him if he, too, did not yearn for her. Miss Pepinka 
and the good priest knew how much Bara loved ElSka 
and they liked her the more for it. Once when Miss 
Pepinka had been slightly ill, and Bara with greatest 
willingness was waiting on her, she became so con- 
vineed of the girl’s loyalty and good heart that she 
often called her in afterwards to help her. At last 
she reposed so much faith in her that she entrusted to 
her care the key to the larder, which in Miss Pepinka’s 
own eyes was the highest evidence of favor. That is 
why she put the whole household into Bara’s hands, 
on her departure, at which all the housekeepers in the 
village wondered greatly. Pepinka’s mark of prefer- 
ence aroused greater antipathy than ever in the sexton’s 
wife against Bara. The gossips said immediately: 
“See, such good-for-nothings have luck from hell—. 
She has nested herself securely at the parsonage.” 
By which they meant Bara. Prejudice against the 
girl had not died out. She herself did not worry 


172 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


whether or not people liked her. She did not push 
herself forward among the young people either in 
playing or dancing, but attended to her own affairs 
and to her old father. The parsonage was her Prague. 

There were some voices in the village which said: 
“One must give the girl all honor as having skill and 
strength which no girl and very few men can equal. 
What girl can carry two buckets full of water and yet 
walk as if she were toying with them? And who can 
look after a herd asshecan? A horse or bull, a cow or 
sheep, all obey her, she controls all of them. Such a 
girl is a real blessing in a household.” But if a youth 
here or there announced, “I’d like to make her my 
wife,” the mothers at once shrieked, “No, no, my boy! 
Don’t bring that girl into our family. No man can 
say how things will turn out with her. She is the 
wild sort—bewitched!”’ 

And so none of the boys were permitted to court her 
seriously, and to attempt it in sport no one of them 
dared. Bara would not let herself be ruled nor would 
she be blinded by flattering words. The sexton’s wife 
hated her most of all, although Bara never laid so 
much as a straw across her path. Indeed, on the con- 
trary, she did good by protecting Josifek from the re- 
venge of the boys. Whenever any boy got a box on 
the ear in church from the sexton he always tried to 
return it to Josifek. But the sexton’s wife was angry 
at Josifek for being a dunce and permitting a girl to 
defend him and for liking that girl. She was angry 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 173 


because Bara went often to the parsonage and because 
they liked her there. She would have forced her out 
of the parsonage if Miss Pepinka had been anyone but 
Miss Pepinka, but the latter did not permit others to 
blow on her mush and least of all the sexton’s wife. 
Once on a time this worthy, together with the wife of 
the schoolmaster, had made up some gossip about Miss 
Pepinka and from that time their friendship ceased, 
although formerly they had been together constantly. 
Miss Pepinka often taunted Mr. Vléek with it, saying, 
“A sharp nose likes to pry,” which referred to the 
sexton’s wife. Vitek was a lamb at the parsonage 
and only at home was he a real wolf. 

Two, three, four days passed since Pepinka had left 
and Bara could hardly wait. 

“Good sir, how far is it to Prague?” she said to the 
priest when he had had his afternoon nap and was in 
his best humor. 

“Be patient, girl. They can’t be back yet. A hundred 
miles—that’s some distance. Three days to get there, 
two days Pepinka will stop in Prague, and three days 
for the return trip—figure it up yourself!” 

Bara counted the days, and when the fourth day 
after the conversation arrived there were great prepara- 
tions at the parish house, and then Bara counted only 
the hours. For the tenth time she rushed out to look 
down the road. The sun was already sinking and her 
father was driving home the herd when the carriage 
appeared on the highway. 


174 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“They are coming,” shouted Bara, so that it could 
be heard over the whole place. The priest went out in 
front of the gate and the sexton after him. Bara 
would like to have flown directly to them, but she 
became shy suddenly and only ran about from place 
to place. When the carriage neared the parsonage 
a sort of fear filled her, her heart pounded, her 
throat contracted and heat and cold surged over her. 
. The carriage stopped at the gate. First, Miss 
Pepinka rolled out of it and beLind her leaped forth 
the slender figure of a rosy-cheeked girl upon whom the 
priest, the sexton and the assembled crowd stood gaz- 
ing. If she had not thrown her arms around the 
priest’s neck and called him “Uncle” they would not 
have believed it was ElSka. 

Bara never took her eyes from her. When El8Ska 
emerged from her uncle’s embrace she stepped at once 
to Bara, took her two hands in her own and, looking 
up into her eyes, said in her sweet voice, “Bara, 
Bara—I’ve been so lonely for you! How have you 
been? Is LiSaj still alive?” Then Bara burst into 
tears and cried as if her heart would break, unable to 
answer a word. After a while she sighed gratefully, 
“Well, it’s good that you are here at Jast, dear Elka!” 

The priest repeated after Bara: “Well, it’s good that 
you are here. We've been so lonely.” 

“They wanted to detain me there a day longer,” 
said Miss Pepinka, piling all sorts of things out of the 
carriage into the arms of the sexton, Bara and the 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 175 


maid. “But I was worried, dear brother, about you. 
I didn’t want you to be alone, and besides we wouldn’t 
have had enough feed for the horses,’”’ she added. 

They put the old equipage back for a rest into the 
carriage-house, Miss Pepinka laid away her hat in the 
little room as spotless as when she took it out, dis- 
posed of what she had brought with her and distributed 
the gifts. Bara received a lovely ribbon for her 
skirt and one for her hair, and from Elka a string of 
corals for her neck. ElSka brought with her some 
beautiful dresses, but these would not have made her 
pleasing if she had not brought back with her from 
Prague her unspoiled good heart. She had not changed. 

“Oh, Bara, you’ve grown up so!” was the first thing 
that ElSka wondered at when she had time to talk 
to Bara and inspect her properly. 

Bara had grown a head taller than ElSka. 

“Oh, ElSka, you are just as good as you always were, 
only so much prettier. If it wouldn’t be a sin, I’d say 
that you look like the Virgin Mary on our altar.” 

“Oh, there—there! What are you talking about,” 
ElSka rebuked her—but not at all severely. “You are 
flattering me.” 

“God forbid! I am telling you what my heart says. 
I can’t get my fill of looking at you,” Bara earnestly 
insisted. 

* Dear Bara, if you’d only go to Prague! There you’d 
see the lovely girls!’ 

“More beautiful than you?” marvelled Bara. 


176 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Yes, indeed. Far more beautiful,’’ sighed ElSka. 

“Are there good people in Prague? Is it a beautiful 
place? Did you like it there?” questioned Bara a little 
later. 

“They were all good to me, auntie, the governess,— 
all of them liked me. I liked to be among them all, 
but I longed so for you and kept wishing that you 
were there with me. Oh, Bara, dear, it is so beautiful 
there that you cannot even picture it in imagination. 
When I saw the Vlitava, the beautiful churches, the 
huge buildings, the parks—I was as if struck dumb. 
And there were so many people on the streets as if 
there were a procession, some of them dressed in 
holiday costume even on the week days, carriages 
driving by constantly, turmoil and noise so that a per- 
son doesn’t know who is with them. Just wait. 
Next year you and I will go there together to a church 
pilgrimage,” added El8ka. 

“What would I do there? People would laugh at 
me!’ said Bara. 

“Don’t believe it, dear. There, on the streets one 
person doesn’t notice another, one doesn’t even greet 
another in passing.” 

“T wouldn’t like that. That must be a strange 
world,”’ Bara wondered. 

The next day—Sunday—ElSka arrayed herself in 
her holiday clothes, placed on her head a very becom- 
ing red velvet cap such as was just in fashion, and went 
to early mass. All eyes in church were turned towards 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 177 


her and many a young man thought, “For you I’d 
serve even twice seven years if I knew I'd surely get 
you.” 

Whenever El8ka was in church she was always devout 
and never looked about her and this time she was the 
same. But when she went from the church through 
the village she turned in all directions, greeting the 
villagers who crowded to her to welcome her home 
from Prague, inquired how each had been during her 
absence and answering their many questions. Many 
things had changed in those three years, although it 
hardly seemed so to the villagers. Here and there 
some aged man or old grandmother whom Elska had 
been accustomed to seeing on Sundays sitting on the 
high walk around their houses or in the orchard, warm- 
ing themselves in the sun, was no more. In the circle 
of young people many a pair was missing, looking after 
their own newly established housekeeping. Children 
rolled in the grass whom El8ka did not know. Many 
a head which had been gray was now white and the 
girls of ElSka’s own age were now being escorted by 
youths and were no longer regarded as children. 
And, too, no one addressed her now as “EI8ka,”’ but 
all added to her name, “ Maiden.” 

When El&ka heard herself so addressed her cheeks 
flushed red. By this prefix the simple villagers ex- 
pressed what she herself was scarcely conscious of— 
that she was no more a child. In Prague they had 
called her “the little miss” and later “miss.” At 


178 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


first she had thought it was some sort of mockery, but 
hearing that it was the general title for girls, she 
accepted the custom. The title “Panna” or “Maiden” 
honored her more highly, expressing, as it did, virginity- 
and it was because she appreciated this that the blush 
of virgin shyness overspread her sweet face. 

The sexton’s wife also emerged to her threshold, and 
when ElSka passed, invited her in. She liked ElSka, 
though she thoroughly disliked Miss Pepinka. She 
asked ElSka how she had liked it in Prague and how the 
altar of St. John looked at the castle and if it is true 
that the bridge is paved with gold. When Elska 
answered all these questions she examined her from 
head to foot, not even a thread escaping those venom- 
ous eyes. ElSka asked about Josifek. 

“Oh, he is getting along well in his studies. He is 
the best student in school and is growing like a reed 
out of the water. Many—ah—many times he asked 
about you, Maid ElSka, when he was here for the 
holidays. He pined for you and had no one at all 
with whom to enjoy himself. With the local youth— 
it is not fitting for him to associate now that he is a 
student,” said the sexton’s wife. 

Elgka was of a different mind, but she said nothing. 

In the afternoon Elska went to visit Bara. The 
shepherd’s home was a little cottage, the smallest in 
the entire village, but, excepting the parsonage alone, 
there was nowhere greater cleanliness and neatness. 
A table, bench, two chairs, the beds, chest and loom 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 179 


formed its entire furniture, but all were as shining 
as glass. The walls were as white as chalk, the ceiling 
was scrubbed till it glistened as if made of polished 
walnut. On the walls were several pictures and over 
them green sprigs. On the shelves shone several 
pitchers and plates, all keepsakes left of her mother’s 
dowry. The little windows were wide open all summer 
and on the sills stood pots of basil, sweet violets and 
rosemary. ‘The floor was not boarded, consisting only 
of hardened thrashings, but Bara covered it with a 
rush-mat which she herself had woven. 

Near the cottage there was a strip of orchard and a 
little flower-garden which Bara cultivated. Every- 
where it was evident that the occupants of the cottage 
had few wants, but that the being who ruled it was 
not at all lacking in a sense of beauty. 

Not a single girl in the village, not even excepting 
the maidservants, dressed as simply as did Bara, but 
not one of them looked as clean at her work, day in 
and day out, as Bara did. Her blouse, gathered at the 
neck and at the wrists, was of coarse cloth, but it was 
always as white as the fallen snow. This and her dark 
woolen skirt, her apron, also of coarse linen, formed 
her entire costume. On Sundays she put on shoes and 
wore a close-fitting bodice and in the winter she added 
a wool jacket. For ornamentation she wore a border 
on her skirt, red strings on her apron and red ribbons 
on her black braids which hung down on her back to 
her knees. The girls sometimes chided her for not 


180 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


wearing a tight girdle during the week, but she an- 
swered that she felt freer without and ElSka always 
told her she looked better without a corset. There is 
no person free of some form of vanity and even Bara 
Was not exempt. 

Great was Bara’s delight that ElSka had come for a 
visit. She led her everywhere over the place, showing 
off her garden, the orchard, the field, and taking her out 
to the meadow to her father, who could not admire 
ElSka enough, and wonder at how she had grown. In 
short they visited every spot where three years ago 
they had romped together. Then they sat down in 
the orchard. Bara brought a dish of cream in which 
black bread was crumbled, set it on the grass and 
with Elska ate it just as in former days. While they 
ate, Bara related things about her black cow, about 
Ligaj, and finally the conversation drifted to Josifek. 

“Does Mrs. Vléek still dislike you?” asked El8ka. 

“Yes, indeed! When I’m around it is like salt in 
her eyes. When she knows nothing more slanderous 
to say of me she criticizes my eyes, saying that I look 
like a tadpole.” 

“How wicked of her!’ El8ka exclaimed angrily. 

“Yes, truly, for I have never injured her in any way. 
The other day, though, I got angry about it. I sent 
her a mirror so that she might first look at her own 
beauty before she found fault with others’ looks.” 

“You did just the right thing,” laughed ElSka. 
“But why does she hate you so?” 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 181 


“Qh, she’s a hard one. She stings everyone with 
her basilisk eye, not only me. Perhaps she dislikes 
me because I am in better standing with your people 
than is Josifek and because Josifek likes me. The poor 
fellow gets a beating every time his mother learns 
that he has been to see me. I always tell him not to 
come here, but he comes anyway, and I am not to 
blame.” 

Elska was silent, but after a pause asked, “And do 
you like Josifek?” 

“Why shouldn’t I like him? Everybody picks on 
him just as they do on me. Poor little fellow! He 
can’t defend himself and I feel sorry for him.” 

“Why, is he still the same as he used to be? Mrs. 
Vléek told me he had grown remarkably.” 

“Yes, as high as LiSaj’s garters,” smiled Bara. But 
at once she added compassionately, “How can he 
grow when his mother gives him more thumps on the 
back than she puts biscuits in his stomach?” 

“And what does Vléek say to all that? It’s his son, 
too!” 

“Vitek and Mrs. Vléek are of one stripe. They are 
angry because Josifek does not want to become a 
priest. In the name of the Lord, how can he help it 
that he doesn’t like it any more? Unwilling service 
surely could not be pleasing to God.” 

“Truly, it could not be,” ElSka confirmed. 

A little while longer the girls talked, and then Bara 
accompanied ElSka home. From that time they visited 


182 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


each other regularly as before, although they no 
longer played with dolls in the space over the oven. 

But the friendship of the two girls did not suit the 
neighbor women. They began to gossip that it was 
odd that ElSka should associate with the shepherd’s 
daughter, that it was not fitting for her, that she should 
rather seek the society of the daughters of the mayor, 
the justice and others. Purposely, they said these 
things openly so that they would be carried to Miss 
Pepinka’s ears. The talk vexed Miss Pepinka. It 
was not wise to irritate the neighbor women, yet Miss 
Pepinka did not like to send ElSka among the local 
young people. Somehow it did not seem proper to 
invite the village girls to the parsonage when El&ka 
did not herself seek them. She talked to Elka about 
it, and the latter briefly decided that she would some- 
times go to visit the village girls, but that Bara would 
remain the dearest friend of her choice. 

Miss Pepinka did not oppose this plan, for she liked 
Bara herself for many reasons. She thought that 
Bara would hardly be likely to marry and _ that 
later on she would become her right hand, after ElSka 
married. Miss Pepinka had a suitor for El8ka up her 
sleeve, so to speak, but no one knew of it, not even the 
priest. This suitor was the manager or steward on a 
nearby noble estate, who was pleasing to Miss Pepinka, 
and it seemed to her that it would be a very con- 
venient arrangement for ElSka’s future. The manorial 
fields bordered on the parish lands and the steward, 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 183 


whenever he visited that section of the estate, always 
stopped at the parish house. 

ElSka had not an inkling of the happiness her aunt 
was in spirit preparing for her, and through her head 
flitted altogether different plans than any idea of be- 
coming the wife of the steward. She had not yet told 
these plans even to Bara. But Bara often beheld 
ElSka lost in thought and downcast, and from this 
she judged that something was weighing on her heart. 
Still she said nothing, thinking to herself, “When the 
right time comes, she will tell me.” 

Bara was not mistaken. Despite the fact that the 
neighbors tried to present Bara in an evil light to 
ElSka and accused her of being unrestrained, still 
ElSka believed in her more than in them all and 
cared for her in the same way as before. On the 
eve before St. John the Baptist’s day the girls met 
and ElSka asked Bara, “Are you going to toss a 
wreath tomorrow?” 

“Alone, I wouldn’t care to toss one, but if you wish 
to, come over before sunrise and we'll go together.” 

“Tl come!” 

In the morning before the sun came up El&ka al- 
ready stood in the herdsman’s orchard with Bara be- 
side her. They were weaving white, blue and red 
blossoms on hoops made of willow twigs. 

“Whom are you going to think of when you throw 
the wreath?” ElSka asked of Bara. 

“Dear Lord, I haven’t any one to think of!’’ sighed 


184 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


the girl. “T'll cast the wreath at random to see if it 
floats after yours. I only wish that when you marry, 
Elka, I could go with you.” 

El&ka became silent as a blush overspread her cheeks. 
After a pause she said, extending her hand to Bara: 
“Here is my hand on it that we shall stay together; 
if you do not marry, I shall never marry,” she added 
with a deep sigh. 

“What are you saying, ElSka? Very few people 
love me, but everyone cares for you. You will be rich; 
Iam poor. You are beautiful and Iam homely. You 
are well educated and I am a simple, stupid girl— 
and I am to think of a husband, and you not?” 

“Auntie has always told me that it all depends on 
taste. To one a carnation is most becoming, to 
another a rose, to a third a violet. Every flower finds 
its own admirer, each has its own kind of beauty. 
Do not underrate yourself nor overvalue me; we are 
equals. Aren’t you truly going to think of any of the 
boys, or haven’t you thought of any as yet?” 

““No, no,”’ Bara shook her head, smilingly. “I don’t 
think of any of them, and when they come a-courting 
I make short work of them. Why should I spoil my 
thoughts, or bind up my golden freedom?” 

“But if one of them loved you very much and you 
him, then you’d let yourself be bound, wouldn’t you?” 
asked El8ka. 

“Why, Elska, don’t you know how it goes? First, 
his parents would bargain with my father and haggle 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 185 


about how much he would give me before their son 
would dare to marry me. My dowry isn’t big enough 
to satisfy any parents I know, and I have no desire 
to be permitted to enter a household as a gracious 
act of favor. I would rather tie a millstone around 
my neck and jump into the river. If I’d voluntarily 
put a load on myself, I'd have to call myself a fool. 
If they abuse me now, they’d revile me doubly after- 
wards. 

‘And no matter what I am, 

I have a bouquet at my belt, 


>>> 


she finished, quoting the popular song as she placed 
at her waist a nosegay made of the surplus flowers 
from the wreath. Then pointing to the beams of the 
rising sun she cried, “We have no time to spare!” 

Elka quickly finished weaving her wreath and both 
girls hastened to the nearby bridge which led over the 
river to the meadow. In the center of the bridge, they 
paused. 

“Let’s throw them together!” said El&ka, lifting the 
wreath high above her head. 

“All right! Ready!” cried Bara, tossing the wreath 
out over the water. But her wreath, cast by a strong 
arm, did not reach the water, but remained hanging on 
awillow. For an instant Bara stood in startled silence, 
then she wept. Finally she tossed her head resolutely, 
saying: “Well, let it hang there. The flowers look 
pretty up on that willow.” 

ElSka, however, never removed her eyes from her 


186 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


wreath, which, dropped by her trembling fingers, 
whirled a moment in one place in the river, then a 
wave seized it, pushed it on to a second, and that one 
to a third, and then carried it further and further down 
stream till it had vanished from the sight of the two 
girls. 

ElSka, with clasped hands on the railing of the 
bridge, gazed with flaming eye and cheek after the 
wreath now carried by a strong current. Bara, lean- 
ing against the rail, also looked silently after it. 

“And your wreath was caught here. See, you will 
marry someone right here!’’ exclaimed Elka turning to 
Bara. 

“According to that, it looks as if we weren’t to be 
together, after all. I am to stay here and you are to 
go far away from us. But I don’t believe in it. Man 
plans but God decrees.” 

“Of course,” ElSka said in a voice half sad, and 
dropped her eyes with a sigh to the stream below. 

“So, then, ElSka, you’d like to go far away from us? 
Don’t you like it here?’’ asked Bara, and her dark-blue 
eyes gazed into ElSka’s face searchingly. 

“Why, what are you thinking of?” whispered Elska, 
not raising her eyes. ‘“‘I like it here, but .. .” 

“But out there far away is someone for whom you 
are yearning, whom you'd like to go to—isn’t that so, 
Elska?” concluded Bara, and laying her brown hand on 
the girl’s white shoulder she looked with a smile into 
her face. 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 187 


ElSka lifted her eyes to Bara’s, tried to smile, but at 
the same time burst into tears. 

“Tf something weighs on you, confide in me. With 
me it will be as if buried in a grave,” said Bara. 

ElSka without a word laid her head on Bara’s 
shoulder, embraced her and then fell to weeping. 
Bara held her gently as a mother holds her babe, 
kissing her golden hair. 

High above the heads of the girls the lark soared, 
singing, and above the summit of the green forests 
the sun was rising, pouring its golden glow over the 
emerald valley. Jacob came out in front of the cot- 
tage and the sound of the shepherd’s horn reminded 
the girls it was time to go home. 

“Along the way we can tell each other,” said 
Bara, leading ElSka by the hand from the bridge to the 
meadow path. 

“But how did you guess it about me?” questioned 
ElSka. 

“Dear Lord, that’s easy to know. You are often 
absorbed in thought, sometimes you’re sad and then 
again your face fairly glows. As I watched you I 
knew at once that there was something ailing you. 
I guessed right.” 

“Only, I hope Auntie hasn’t noticed anything and 
that she won’t question me,” said ElSka anxiously. 
“She would be angry. He would not please her,” she 
finished. 

“Does she know him?” 


188 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“She saw him in Prague. He is the one who cured 
Auntie.” 

“That doctor? I see. You mentioned several 
times to me what a good man he was. But why 
doesn’t Miss Pepinka like him?” 

“T don’t know. She just scolds about him and says 
he’s distasteful to her,’’ Elka related almost tearfully. 

“Why, is he displeasing?” 

“Oh, Bara!’’ sighed the girl. “A man as handsome 
as he is cannot be found in the whole countryside!” 

“Perhaps he isn’t rich?” 

“Rich? That I don’t know. But what of it? 
What do riches amount to?” 

“That’s true, but your auntie will want you to 
marry a wealthy man who will provide well for you.” 

“No, no, Bara. I won’t marry anyone else. Id 
rather die!” 

“Well, it won’t be as bad as that. And even if he 
isn’t rich, Miss Pepinka and your uncle will listen to 
reason when you tell them—that you love him.” 

“T don’t dare tell them. My Prague aunt forbade 
me to tell them, but she promised us that she’d take 
care for our happiness even if Auntie Pepinka should 
oppose it. A week ago he wrote me that next month 
we'd meet again.” 

“You write to each other?” 

“Tt’s this way—my Prague auntie can’t write and 
is near-sighted. Hynek—that’s his name—it’s a 
pretty name, isn’t it?” 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 189 


“Strange, I’ve never before heard such a name,” said 
Bara; and ElSka continued: 

““Hynek offered to write letters for her to me. She 
wouldn’t write oftener than once a year, but he urges 
her to always send some message. Uncle has been 
much surprised that Auntie writes so often.” 

“And how about it, when your uncle reads the 
letters?” 

“Oh, my dear, we have that part all planned out. 
We write in such a way that no one can understand 
excepting we alone.” 

“After all, it’s a fine thing when a person is ac- 
complished. I'd never be able to do it.” 

“Oh, you’d learn that easily enough,” said ElSka. 
They had just reached the cottage, and she took both 
of Bara’s hands and, looking with clear eyes into 
Bara’s face, she said: “‘You can’t even believe how 
much better and freer I feel now, as if a stone had 
fallen from my heart. Now I can talk to you about 
him. But,” she added with a confidential tone in her 
voice, “you, Bara, have you nothing to tell me?” 

“T?” stammered Bara, and her large eyes dropped. 
“I—nothing!”’ 

“Just a little word?” 

“Nothing, ElSka, nothing. Mere dreams!” 

“Tell them to me, then!” 

“Some other time!’ Bara shook her head, slipped 
her hands out of ElSka’s grasp and, pointing to the 
stable and the doghouse, concluded, “Look, LiSaj is 


190 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


chafing to be out and Blackie will hang herself. It’s 
time to let them out. And your cows are already in 
the herd; I hear their bells. In a minute father will 
drive them past. Go past the garden, ElSka, so that 
the peasant women wouldn’t see you and gossip about 
you!” 

“Oh, let them talk. I’m doing nothing wrong. But 
I'll mind you. I’m going, but just as soon as possible 
we must tell each other more,” said ElSka as she dis- 
appeared between the hedges. 


Ill 


Two rumors were being carried about the village. 
On every estate, in every cottage nothing else was 
talked of than the ghost in the parish forest and the 
approaching marriage of Maid ElSka and the steward. 

“So she forgot her first love thus early?” the reader 
will think. Do not wrong ElSka. She had not proved 
disloyal in even a thought and had determined to 
undergo anything before she would become the stew- 
~ ard’s wife. Even if she were not already betrothed, 
the steward was by no means the sort of man with 
whom she could have fallen in love. 

He was of a short figure, as if he had been baked 
and set up on two short legs. His cheeks were as 
red as peonies, as was his nose also. On his head 
was a round bald spot which, however, he sought 
to cover with the red hair which still remained around 
his ears and neck. His eyes were surrounded by 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 191 


flabby fat and had the peculiar quality, especially for 
a steward, that at one and the same time they looked 
in two different directions. In the summer he wore 
a straw hat with a green ribbon, a cane with a tassel, 
nankeens, a winter double-breasted vest so that he 
wouldn’t take cold or get his shirt soiled, a cotton 
kerchief around his neck, and a clove-colored frock- 
coat with pointed tail and yellow buttons. From 
his pocket usually hung the corner of a blue handker- 
chief, for the steward used snuff. 

It was said among the peasants of Vestec that the 
subjects of the neighboring manor had many a time 
dusted that clove-colored frock-coat with their sticks, 
but that somehow the matter never got to the courts. 
The steward was very timorous, but nevertheless the 
peasants were afraid of him, for he made up for his 
cowardliness by craft and revyengefulness—with which 
he paid them back. To the people from whom he 
could expect any sort of benefit he was very fawning 
and polite, otherwise he was a very harsh man. He 
was also very stingy. The only good quality which no 
one could deny him was his wealth. Yes, indeed, the 
manager, Kilian Slama, was a rich man, and that was 
the quality in him which appealed to Miss Pepinka. 
For that matter, she did not mean that his figure was 
unhandsome—for she never did like tall, spare people. 
Besides, she was flattered because the steward always 
kissed her hand. She thought that in time he would 
find favor in ElSka’s eyes also, that she would get ac- 


192 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


customed to him. She told her brother, who didn’t 
want to hear of the plan, that such a man would value 
his wife more than could some young fop, and that 
he would carry out every wish of ElSka’s who would be 
a lady, well provided for and, should he die, there 
would be no worries about the future. 

“And if my brother should die,’’ she reasoned in her 
mind further, “I'll have a place to go.” 

In short, Miss Pepinka knew how to manage cleverly 
so that the steward visited the parish often, and finally 
even the priest made no further objection. The good 
pastor got accustomed to him and missed the steward 
when he did not come for supper and he had only Miss 
Pepinka and the sexton or the schoolmaster to play 
cards with. ElSka at first had no idea of Pepinka’s 
plan, and listened to praises of his goodness and 
wealth with about as much concern as she paid to his 
awkward enough courting. But the steward became 
more insistent, and her aunt more open in her designs 
until ElSka comprehended fully. It amused her, but 
when her aunt made it clear that the matter was serious, 
reprimanding her severely, and when the priest coun- 
selled her to accept the steward, she began to be gloomy, 
to avoid the steward and to hasten with her burdens 
to Bara. | 

Bara learned Miss Pepinka’s plan from the lady 
herself, for Pepinka wished her to aid in persuading 
Elska. But she struck the wrong note there, for even 
if Bara had not known of El&ka’s love she would not 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 193 


have tried to influence her. She herself esteemed the 
steward no more than the dust in her eyes and would 
not have accepted him even if he had offered her the 
entire noble estate. She said neither yes nor no to 
Miss Pepinka, but conspired secretly with Elka. 
She herself carried to the town post-office ElSka’s 
letter detailing everything fully to her Prague aunt. 
From the time that ElSka learned of the steward’s 
intent he did not have a pleasant word or glance from 
her. No one would have said that the kind-hearted’ 
and always amiable ElSka could speak sharply or 
frown. Whenever he approached the parish he heard 
in the village square or from some hedge abusive songs, 
as if composed and sung for him especially. He tol- 
erated it all, however, except once when he met Bara 
and she began suddenly to sing— 
“Any sort of manikin, 

On spindly legs so thin 

Would like to choose our prettiest girl, 

It surely is a sin.—” 
He nearly burst with bristling anger, and his nose crim- 
soned like a turkey gobbler’s when it sees red. But 
what was the use? The steward had already swal- 
lowed all sorts of shaming and mockery—so he gulped 
down the teasing of the girls, thinking to himself, 
“Just wait, my girl, until I have you and your money— 
then I'll show them all what’s what!’ But the steward 
forgot that even in Stupidville they don’t hang a 
thief until they catch him. 


194 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


One morning it was told around through the village 
that a ghost had been seen. A woman in white had 
gone from the parish forest to the village, through the 
square, over the meadows and somewhere near the 
graveyard had mysteriously disappeared. The sex- 
ton’s wife fell sick of fright, for, she said, the ghost 
had rapped on her window, and when the sexton 
stepped to the window, not knowing who it was, he 
beheld a white specter surmounted by a skull and it 
made a wry face at him, while the figure shook its 
finger threateningly. It was a wonder Vléek himself 
did not become ill as a result, but the sexton’s wife 
would have it that death had given her warning that 
in a year and a day she must die. 

The night watchman also took his oath that it was a 
ghost and that it came out of the parish wood. People 
began to dig up past history, if perhaps someone had 
not hanged himself there, but when they could not 
think up any such incident they said that once upon 
a time someone buried a treasure somewhere and that 
his spirit had no peace and was seeking someone to 
free it. All sorts of conjectures were made and the 
talk was only of the specter. 

“T don’t believe it,’’ said Bara to El8Ska when she 
came to her that same evening to the meadow near the 
wood where Jacob was pasturing the herd. 

“Whether it’s true or not, I’m grateful to the ghost, 
for it has rid me for several days of a much-disliked 
guest. To be sure, he wrote to uncle that they are 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 195 


having harvest and a great deal of work and that he 
cannot come for several days, but I’d wager my head 
that he heard about the specter and is afraid. He’s a 
terrible coward and he has to come by way of the 
parish forest.” 

“T wish it had blown him away so that he’d come no 
more to Vestec. I’d rather see you in your coffin 
than with that bald-pate at the altar,’ Bara scolded. 
“T don’t see where Miss Pepinka puts her reason that 
she forces you to accept such a creature. And yet she 
is a good woman.” 

“She thinks she is making provision for a com- 
fortable future for me. That is the only reason I am 
not utterly angry at her, but I cannot marry him, no 
matter what happens.” 

“And you must not. God would punish you since 
you gave your promise to Mr. Hynek, if you did not 
keep it. You know the saying, ‘He who breaks the 
vow of love, alas, alas, for his soul!’”’ 

“T shall never, never break it even if it would take 
years,” asserted ElSka. “But he—he—if only he will 
not forget! In Prague there are beautiful girls who are 
his equals. But, Bara, if he would forget me I would 
grieve myself to death!” And Elka began sobbing. 

“You are a foolish child to worry yourself. so. 
Yesterday you told me what a fine man Mr. Hynek 
was and how much he loves you, and today you have 
doubts of him?” 

ElSka wiped her eyes, smiled and, throwing herself 


196 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


down beside Bara on the grass, said: “It was only a 
passing thought. I believe in him as I do in God! 
Oh, if I were only that little bird and could fly to him 
and tell him all that grieves me!” 

To Bara at once occurred the song, “If I were a 
nightingale!’ and she began to sing, but it did not 
go merrily, for in the middle of the song she paused 
suddenly, as if terror-stricken. Her cheeks, too, 
became red. 

“What frightened you? Why did you stop sing- 
ing?” ElSka asked, but Bara did not answer, only 
gazed off into the forest. 

“Bara, Bara!’ Elka shook her finger reproach- 
fully. “You are hiding something from me and I 
haven’t a secret thought before you. That isn’t nice 
of you.” 

*T don’t know myself what I'd say,” replied Bara. 

“Why did you start just now? You are never afraid 
of anything? Who was that in the forest?” 

‘A huntsman, perhaps,”’ Bara said evasively. 

“You know very well who it was. Your fright wasn’t 
over nothing. Maybe it was the ghost you saw?” 

“No, no! I wouldn’t be afraid of that,” laughed 
Bara heartily, and wished to change the subject, but 
ElSka persisted in unreeling the same thread until 
finally she asked directly if Bara would marry Josifek 
in case he did not become a priest. Bara burst into 
even louder laughter than before. 

‘God save me!” she cried. ‘The sexton’s wife 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 197 


would cook up a snake for me the first day. Josffek 
is a good boy, but he doesn’t fit among us. He is 
neither for the herd nor the plow, and it wouldn’t be 
proper to put him at the spinning-wheel. Still I 
might keep him behind a frame and under glass 
for exhibition.” 

ElSka, too, had to laugh at her notion, but after a 
while she asked Bara very earnestly, “Then there is 
truly no one whom you are fond of?” 

“Listen, ElSka!’’ Bara said, after short deliberation. 
“Last fall it happened often that alone with LiSaj 
I took the herd out. Father had a sore foot and could 
not stand up. One afternoon the mayor’s cow, 
Plavka, and Milost’s cow, B¥ezina, got into a fight 
and began to gore each other with their horns. One 
must never let them get into a rage or they’d dig out 
each other’s horns. So I seized a pail and ran to the 
river for some water to throw on their heads. Before 
I returned to the herd some huntsman approached from 
the wood and, seeing the cows with their locked horns, 
tried to drive them apart. 

“Away— Go away!” I shrieked at him. “I'll 
separate them myself. Don’t let the bull see you, he’s 
wicked!” The huntsman turned around, but in that 
instant the bull, also, had caught sight of him. Luckily, 
the cows ran off in different directions when I splashed 
the water over them or it would have been hard for the 
huntsman to escape. It was al! I could do to seize the 
bull, restrain and calm him, for even father can’t hold 


198 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


him, though he usually obeys me when I threaten him. 
The huntsman hid himself in the wood behind a tree 
and watched. When the herd was again peacefully at 
pasture he appeared at the edge of the forest and asked 
me whose daughter I was. I told him. He looked at 
me strangely, doffed his cap, thanked me for my pro- 
tection and went away into the forest. After that I 
saw him many times, but I never spoke with him again 
except to greet him when he passed near by. He used 
to stand on the edge of the wood or walk along the 
river’s bank, even coming into the village, all that win- 
ter and spring. On St. John’s day early in the morn- 
ing after you left I was helping father drive out the 
cows when I saw him coming over the meadow to the 
bridge. He paused where you had stood, looked 
around, then stepped down from the bridge into the 
bushes near the bank. There I distinctly saw him 
take down my wreath which had remained hanging on 
the willow and hide it under his coat. Just a few 
moments ago I saw him down there near the wood. 
Why I always have a sudden fright whenever I see him, 
I don’t know.” 

‘And you truly have never talked with him?” 

“Not a word more than at that first meeting,” Bara 
declared. 

“But you like him, don’t you?” ElSka questioned 
further. 

“Yes, as I do every good man who has wronged no 
one.” 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 199 


“But you don’t know whether he is good when you 
haven’t talked with him.” 

“He certainly is not bad. It doesn’t show in his 
eyes!” 

“So you truly do like him?” ElSka insisted search- 
ingly. 

“There are handsome boys in the village, but if you 
want the truth, I must say that no one of them pleases 
me as does he. I often dream of him!” 

“What a person thinks of, that he dreams of.” 

“Oh, not always. Dreams also come from God.” 

“But tell me honestly—if that huntsman should say, 
‘Bara, I mean to marry you,’ would you consent?” 

“FlSka, how you talk! He will never think of me, 
let alone wishing to marry me. Those are all vain 
dreams and speeches. Forget it all! Ho! Ho! 
Plavka, where are you going? LiSaj, where are you? 
Don’t you see Plavka getting after Brezina?” Bara in- 
terjected, leaping up from the soft green turf to turn 
aside the cow, meanwhile. 

Whenever later El8ka wanted to turn the conversa- 
tion to the subject of the huntsman Bara always evaded 
her by beginning about Hynek. By that magic word 
she knew she could turn ElSka from any subject. 

A few days later the steward was again at the parish. 
Nothing had frightened him off. But—he came in the 
daytime. Even at the parsonage there was discussion 
of the ghost. While the priest had no faith in similar 
superstititions, still it was thought there was something 


200 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


to the tales, for every third night precisely from eleven 
to twelve it “haunted,” according to the testimony of 
reputable people. It shook its fist at many a person 
and a death’s head looked into numerous windows. The 
people were so terrified that only the boldest men ven- 
tured outside their own thresholds at night. They 
began repenting their sins and gave generously for 
prayers for souls in purgatory. In fact fear of death 
drove them all to do penance. To be sure, the priest 
preached against superstition and false beliefs, but it 
was all useless. 

The steward, though he would not own to it, was so 
frightened that he visibly paled, and if it had not been 
for his great greed to possess a beautiful bride and her 
rich dowry, the parsonage would not have seen him 
again. He wanted, therefore, to have certainty as- 
sured as soon as possible. For that reason he had come 
to a definite understanding with Miss Pepinka and the 
priest and decided to consult even ElSka so that the 
wedding could be celebrated immediately after harvest- 
time. 

Miss Pepinka announced to ElSka the steward’s 
impending visit the next day and urged her to be 
sensible and listen to reason. El&8ka wept and begged 
her aunt not to force her to marry such a scarecrow, 
but Pepinka became very angry with her. Even her 
uncle, although he did not rebuke her as did his sister, 
nevertheless reproved her for ingratitude and unreason- 
ableness. No letter came from Prague—and not 4 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 201 


word of any news. El&ka knew not what to do. She 
consulted Bara, who encouraged her to be brave and 
further incensed her against the steward, but all this 
was no real help to her. 

The next day came—the day when the ghost did not 
haunt—and the steward arrived all dressed up in 
finery to do his courting. Miss Pepinka cooked and 
baked from earliest dawning in order the better to 
honor the guest. Even wine came to the table to 
celebrate the glorious day. Bara was also at the parish 
and only on her persuasion was ElSka able to stand on 
her feet at all, for the whole affair made her terribly ill. 

When he actually pressed his demands, ElSka told 
him to come back a week later for her final word. She 
hoped against hope that in the meantime some word 
would come from Prague. The steward was not 
pleased with her evasive answer nor the cold demeanor 
of his bride-to-be, for he saw something was not right. 
But there was nothing to do but keep still and trust 
in his protectress, Miss Pepinka. Despite his chagrin, 
the food and drinks tasted excellently and his cheeks 
fairly burned. That day he wore a blue frock-coat 
so the contrast was all the more marked. 

When evening approached, the steward wished to 
go home, but the priest did not wish to let him go yet. 
An hour later when he again spoke of going the 
priest said: “Just stay a little longer. Vitek will 
accompany you, and also the hostler. It’s possible 
that some sort of rabble does infest our forest.” 


202 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The steward acted as if some one had dashed ice- 
water over him. He no longer had any appetite and 
would have preferred to see himself at home in bed. 
The only thing that held him was the promise of having 
an escort. Vléek had a bit too much in his head and 
the stableman, too, had tippled, thinking to himself, 
“Tt doesn’t happen every day,” and neither cared to go 
until it was after ten. Then, at last, they set out on 
the journey. The steward, sobered by fear, observed 
that both his escorts were intoxicated. They reeled 
along the road, one zigzagging here and the other 
there. There was no speech to be had with them and 
the steward was in mortal anxiety, although he buoyed 
himself up with the hope that this was not the regular 
night for the specter to appear. 

Alas! how he had looked forward to that day—for 
which he had had everything well figured out and now 
everything was botched. 

The night was clear enough; one could see from the 
village to the forest. The travellers were quite near 
it when suddenly there issued forth a white figure, 
appearing to them immensely tall and came directly 
towards them. The steward shrieked and rolled to the 
ground like a log. The sexton, sobered in a twinkling, 
started on arun. Only the hostler remained standing 
like a pillar, but when the figure with skeleton white 
hand unveiled its head, showing a grinning skull, his 
hair stood on end and he fell to his knees down beside 
the steward. The figyre, however, took no notice 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 203 


of him, but with a powerful grip lifted up the kneeling 
steward to his feet and shrieked in a hollow voice into 
his ear, “If you ever dare go a-courting again to the 
parsonage you sign your own death-warrant!”’ With- 
out another word the weird apparition stalked with 
long, slow strides towards the village. 

Meanwhile Vitek rushing, breathless, to the village 
square overtook the night watchman. Together they 
called out half the village. The more courageous 
ventured out, taking clubs and flails, while the sexton 
ran to the church to get some consecrated object. 

They took him in their midst and started towards the 
parish wood. At the edge of the village they caught 
sight of the tall white specter striding along slowly, 
not to the town, but obliquely over the meadows 
towards the graveyard. For an instant they paused, 
but then with shouts encouraging each other to bold- 
ness they advanced in one body after the white figure 
which, observing them, speeded up its steps. 

Suddenly, however, the specter began to run and 
on the bridge vanished completely from their eyes. 
They started after it now with more fearlessness. 
At the bridge they stopped. 

“Something white is lying here!” they shouted. 

The sexton made the sign of the cross above the 
bridge and when after pronouncing the words, “ Praise 
ye all the good spirit of the Lord,” no response was 
made, one of the peasants stepped closer and saw that 
it was only a dress lying there. With his club he 


204 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


raised the bundle gingerly, and carried it thus to the 
village. On their return they picked up the half-dead 
steward whom the hostler had to almost carry all the 
way back. They went directly to the parsonage. 

The priest was not yet asleep and cheerfully opened 
the door. They there examined what they had found. 
All of them stood transfixed as if they had been dropped 
from the clouds. Two white sheets and a brown woollen 
skirt with a red border. They recognized the skirt. 

“That belongs to bewitched Bara!”’ they all cried. 

“Damnable!”’ some of them cursed. 

“A perfect dragon!” swore others. 

But the most furious were the sexton and the 
steward, both going almost mad with rage. The hostler 
was the only one who laughed. 

“T’d sooner have guessed it was real Death stalk- 
ing around as a ghost than Bara. She is a devilish 
woman!” 

Miss Pepinka just then burst into the company. 
The noise and confusion had attracted her from her 
room where she had already betaken herself to bed. 
She was wrapped in a shawl, on her head a yellow 
quilted nightcap. She always had to have something 
yellow on. She came with a lamp in one hand and an 
immense bundle of keys in the other. ‘For Heaven’s 
sake, people, what has happened?” she cried, wholly 
terrified. 

From several pairs of lips she heard the remarkable 
occurrence. 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 205 


“Oh, the godless, ungrateful girl!’ exclaimed Pepinka 
in shocked amazement. “Just wait! She'll catch it 
from me! I'll read the gospel to her properly! Where 
have you got her?” she demanded. 

“Who knows where she is? She disappeared in the 
middle of the bridge, just as if the earth had opened and 
swallowed her.” 

“Did she jump in the river?” questioned the priest. 

“We heard no splash nor did we see anyone in the 
water. But then, reverend father, that is no trick for 
such a bewitched being! She can make herself in- 
visible and is as much at home in fire as in water, up 
in the air as on earth, everywhere the same!” asserted 
one of the neighbors. 

“Don’t believe such nonsensical tales, my people!’’ 
the priest rebuked. 

“Bara is a venturesome girl and has been carrying 
on mischief, but that is all, and for that she must be 
reprimanded. She must come to me to-morrow.” 

“Severely reprimanded, much respected sir!” ex- 
claimed the steward, trembling with anger combined 
with the terror which had shaken his bones. “Very 
severely. It is a punishable offense to make a fool of 
the entire community.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t as bad as that, precious sir,”’ inter- 
rupted the peasants. “It was only the women who 
were frightened.” 

“My poor wife will have such a sick spell from the 
whole affair! It is unforgivable godlessness!”’ Vl&éek 


> 


206 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


complained. Like the peasants, he did not mention 
his own fright. 

Miss Pepinka was so rejoiced at the import of 
Vléek’s speech that she could have forgiven Bara on 
the spot. But the hostler incensed her anew by saying: 
““Why should I deny it? I was really scared, though 
I’m not usually afraid of anything. We were all of us 
frightened. You, Mr. Sexton, could hardly crawl 
home, and the honorable Mr. Steward here was so 
terrified he dropped to his knees like an over-ripe pear. 
When she grinned her teeth at me I was sure it was 
Death itself—and it’s no wonder, for I was three sheets 
in the wind. I expected her to clutch me by the throat, 
but instead she grabbed the steward here, lifted him up 
and screeched into his ears, ‘If you ever dare show 
yourself again at the parsonage as a suitor you sign 
your own death-warrant.’” 

The hostler wanted to demonstrate exactly how 
Bara seized the steward, but the latter dodged his 
grasp, his face changing from red to purple. But 
Miss Pepinka was terribly offended, although the 
peasants fully forgave Bara for putting them to the 
blush when they learned what she did to the steward. 
All further procedure was postponed till morning. 
The steward remained at the parsonage overnight, 
but by earliest dawn he was well on his way beyond 
the boundaries. 

When in the morning ElSka heard what Bara had 
ventured to do for her sake she begged her uncle and 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 207 


Pepinka to forgive Bara, who had done it all to rid 
her of the steward. Miss Pepinka would not relinquish 
her plan and insisted that since Bara had so deeply 
affronted the steward she must be punished. 

“And, moreover, if you don’t marry the steward, 
you'll not get so much as a thread from me!” she 
threatened ElSka, who only shrugged her shoulders. 

The priest was not so stubborn. He did not wish 
to reprove his niece, but he could not wholly, of his 
own volition, forgive Bara. El&ka was eager to go at 
once to Bara, but was not permitted to do so. 

Jacob, knowing nothing of his daughter’s secret 
doings, as usual took his horn the next morning and 
went out to call together his herd. But, to his amaze- 
ment, nowhere were the gates opened—just as if during 
the night all the cattle had perished or as if the servants 
had overslept. He went up to the very houses and 
sounded his horn—loudly enough to call the dead from 
their graves. The cows bellowed, to be sure, but no 
one went to let them out. The maid-servants came 
out and said: “You are not to drive out our cows any 
more. Someone else is to do it!” 

“What's that?” thought Jacob to himself, and went 
immediately to the mayor. Here he learned what had 
happened. 

“We have nothing against you, personally, but your 
Bara is bewitched and the peasant women are afraid 
that she will cast a spell on them.” 

“Why, has anything ever happened to any of the herd?” 


208 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“No, but Bara might want to revenge herself.” 

“Leave my daughter alone!” cried Jacob angrily. 
“Tf you want my services, I’m willing to give them. 
If not, it’s all right, too. The world is wide. God 
won’t forsake us!” 

“Well, you see, it wouldn’t do to keep you, under the 
circumstances.” 

“Then put into your herdsman’s hut whomsoever 
you please, and may you be here with God!’ Jacob 
had never talked so much at once in all his life, nor 
had he ever been as angry as at that moment. He 
went home at once. Bara was not there. He went 
to untie LiSaj. The cow and bull which he had in 
charge were left to moo and bellow while he went to 
the parsonage. 

Bara was standing before the priest. 

“Did you parade around asa ghost?” the priest 
catechized her. 

“Yes, reverend sir!’ Bara answered dauntlessly. 

“And why?” 

“T knew the steward was a coward. I wanted to 
frighten him off so he wouldn’t torture Miss Elka. 
She can’t bear him and would die if she had to marry 
him.” 

“Remember its not your business to extinguish a 
fire that isn’t burning you. Even without you, it 
would have been settled. How were you able to 
vanish so suddenly from the bridge?” 

“Very easily, reverend sir. I cast off the sheets and 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 209 


dress, jumped into the river and swam under water a 
short distance. That’s why no one could see me.” 

“You swam under water?” The priest struck his 
hands together amazedly. “‘What a girl you are! 
And at night, too! Who taught you?” 

Bara was amazed at the priest’s surprise. 

“Why, reverend sir, my father instructed me how I 
must move when in the water, and the rest I learned 
myself. That’s no trick. I know every stone in the 
river. Why should I be afraid?” 

The priest gave long-drawn-out admonitions to Bara 
and then sent her to the servants’ hall to await judg- 
ment. He took consultation with the mayor, alder- 
men and the schoolmaster, and they decided that since 
Bara had caused such a general scandal and had been 
so audacious she must be publicly chastised. As a 
punishment they condemned her to remain shut up 
for one whole night in the vault at the cemetery. It 
seemed to all a terrible punishment, but since she had 
been so bold and unabashed, let her learn, they said, 
what real terror is by a night spent among dead men’s 
bones. 

Miss Pepinka was not at all pleased with the sen- 
tence. ElSka was utterly shocked and every woman 
in the village shuddered with horror over the penalty 
imposed. Even the sexton’s wife was willing to for- 
give B&éra, and thought she would be sufficiently pun- 
ished by the simple publication of the fact that judg- 
ment had been passed on her. 


210 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Bara, alone, remained unmoved. It worried her far 
more that the community had dismissed her father, 
for she had already heard what had happened to him. 
When the priest told her where she was to spend the 
succeeding night, she listened to all quietly, then 
kissed his hand, saying, “‘As far as that’s concerned, 
it makes little difference if I sleep in the charnel- 
house or some other place. I can sleep even on a stone. 
But it’s harder for father. What will become of him, 
now that they’ve taken his position away from him? 
Father can’t live without his flocks and herds, for he’s 
been used to them all his life. He will die! Arrange 
it somehow, reverend sir!” 

Everyone marvelled at Bara’s unsubdued spirit and 
refused to believe otherwise than that, after all, it 
was some sort of supernatural power that made Bara 
different from other people. 

“Never mind, her crest will fall by night,” many of 
them thought. But they were mistaken. Bara was 
dejected only until she learned that the peasants had 
returned to Jacob his work as public herdsman, which the 
priest had arranged for by giving him his own herd to 
pasture. 

After dinner, when the priest was napping and Miss 
Pepinka was also dozing a little, El8ka stole out from 
the room and ran down to Bara. Her eyes were red 
with weeping and she was shaking with fear. Vio- 
lently she threw her arms around Bara’s neck and fell 
to sobbing anew. 


ae 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 211 


“There, there, be quiet!’ Bara consoled her. “Don’t 
worry! Just let’s be content if that cricket doesn’t 
come courting you again, and he’d have to be a man 
without any sense of honor at all if he’d dare come 
another time. The rest will right itself!” 

“But you, poor dear, to have to spend the night 
in the charnel-house. Dear Lord, I'll not have a 
moment’s peace!” 

“Don’t have any anxiety on that score. I have 
slept near the cemetery more than once, and day and 
night it is before my eyes. Just you go to bed and to 
sleep! And please send word to father not to have 
any fears for me and to tie up Ligaj for the night so 
he won’t follow me. Then tomorrow I'll tell you 
the whole affair and what a scare I gave the steward. 
You'll have a good laugh over it. And soon you'll 
get word from Mr. Hynek. But when you get away 
from this place, ElSka, you'll surely not leave me here, 
will you?” Bara asked sadly. 

ElSka only pressed her hand, whispering, “ You and 
I belong to each other!’ Softly she slipped away. 
Bara sang cheerfully to herself and felt a great peace. 

When it had become quite dark the sexton and the 
night watchman came to lead Bara away to the 
cemetery. Miss Pepinka winked at her to plead with 
the priest, intending herself to intercede also. But 
Bara would not understand, and when the priest 
himself said that if she asked mercy and was penitent 
those who had passed the decree could be prevailed 


212 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


upon she tossed her head defiantly, saying, “Since you 
were pleased to judge me deserving of punishment, I 
will serve out my sentence!’’ And she went with the 
men. 

The people ran out of the houses, many of them feel- 
ing sorry for her, but Bara took no notice of any of them 
and walked merrily towards the graveyard, which was 
situated near the heel of the forest not far from the 
community pasture. 

Her two escorts opened the ee of the death- 
chamber where human bones and funeral biers were 
kept and, after expressing the wish, “May God protect 
you!’’ they went home. 

From the vault a little window not much bigger 
than one’s hand looked out on the valley and the 
forest. Bara stationed herself beside the window and 
looked out for a long, long time. Sad, indeed, must 
have been the thoughts that flitted through her mind, 
for tear after tear fell from her beautiful eyes and ran 
down her brown cheeks. 

The moon rose higher and higher, one light after 
another in the village was extinguished, and more and 
more quiet it grew all around her. Over the graves 
fell the shadows of the tall pines standing near the wall 
and above the valley a light mist gathered. Only the 
barking or weird howling of dogs disturbed the stillness 
of the night. 

Bara looked out upon the grave of her mother, re- 
called her lonely childhood, the dislike and scorn of 











“BEWITCHED BARA” 213 


her by the people of the village, and for the first time 
she felt the weight of it all and for the first time the 
thought came to her, “Oh, mother, would that I could 
be lying there beside you!’ One thought gave birth 
to another, vision succeeded vision. In spirit she em- 
braced the beautiful ElSka, and on the forest path her 
imagination portrayed as by magic the figure of a tall, 
broad-shouldered huntsman, with a face expressing 
earnestness, energy and strength. 

But finally she turned away from the window, shook 
her head silently and, covering her face with her hands, 
sank with a deep sigh to the ground, weeping and 
praying. Her deep sorrow allayed somewhat, she 
rose from the ground, intending to lie down on the 
funeral bier, when suddenly near the window a dog 
barked and a deep voice asked, “Bara, are you sleep- 
ing?” It was Jacob and LiSaj. 

“T’m not sleeping, father, but I soon shall be. Why 
did you come? I’m not afraid.” 

“All right then, girl, sleep. I will sleep out here— 
it’s a warm night.”’ And her father lay down beneath 
the window, with LiSaj beside him. 

They slept well until morning. 

In the morning when the first streaks of dawn began 
to show, a man dressed in huntsman’s costume came 
through the forest. Jacob often used to see him going 
through the forest or the valley. 

“What are you doing here, Jacob?” the huntsman 
asked him as he drew near. 


214 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Well, sir, they locked my daughter in here over- 
night and so I couldn’t stand it to stay at home.” 

“Bara? What has happened?” the huntsman asked 
in amazement. 

Jacob related all briefly. The huntsman uttered an 
oath, and then jerking the gun from his shoulder, hung 
it on a tree and nimbly scaled the cemetery wall. 
With a swing of his powerful right arm he forced open 
the door of the charnel-house and stood before Bara, 
whom the noise had awakened. Seeing the huntsman 
before her, she was under the impression that she was 
still dreaming, but hearing his voice, she wondered 
how he had come there and could not in her embarrass- 
ment even thank him for his greeting. 

“Don’t be angry, Bara, because I have burst in here 
this way. I was going past, saw your father and heard 
from him what had occurred to place you here, and it 
made me furious. Come away at once from these 
dead things!’ the huntsman urged, taking Bara by 
the hand. 

“Not yet, sir. I shall stay here until they come 
for me. They would say that I ran away. I really 
wasn’t so uncomfortable here,’ Bara demurred lightly, 
withdrawing her hand from the grasp of the huntsman. 

“Then I shall call your father and we shall both stay 
here,” said the huntsman and shouted over the wall to — 
Jacob. 

So Jacob, too, climbed over the stone enclosure. 
Together they entered into the death-chamber to join 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 215 


Bara. LiSaj, who had bounded after Jacob, did not 
know what to do for joy when he saw Bara again. 

When Jacob saw where Bara had slept he was almost 
ready to burst into sobs, and so to cover up his tears 
he went to the grave of his dead wife. The huntsman 
sat down on the bier. Bara played with Ligaj, but all 
the while she was conscious that the huntsman never 
took his eyes from her. She blushed and then paled 
and her heart pounded more violently than it had 
throughout the night when she had been wholly alone 
in the tomb. 

“And is there no one beside your father in the entire 
village who would have looked after you here?” the 
huntsman asked after a while. 

“Besides ElSka and my father there is no one. 
Father came. ElSka cannot come, and there is no one 
else who loves me that much. Excepting you, Li§aj, 
isn’t that so?”’ And she gazed into the eyes of her 
dog. “And then everyone’s afraid to go near the 
cemetery at night,” she added. 

“T marvel at your courage as I marvelled at your 
strength. Almost every day I have told my mother 
about you,” said the huntsman. 

“Oh, you still have a mother, sir?” Bara asked in 
gentle tones. 

“Yes, an aged mother. We live together high up 
on the hill three-quarters of an hour’s distance from 
here, in the forest. I am a huntsman. My mother 
has wished for a daughter and would like to see me 


216 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


happy. I have never found anywhere a woman I 
would want for a wife until I saw you. Bara, I am 
not a man of long speeches. I have cared for you 
from the moment I first saw you. I’ve learned to 
know you well, too, even though we did not talk 
to each other, and that I have said nothing before this 
is because I did not dare presume to ask your consent. 
Now you know all. Tell me if you think you can 
care for me—and if you want to be my wife. In 
Vestec you cannot remain after this. So if you care 
for me, take what things you wish with you and come 
at once with your father to me up there to our home 
in the forest where people will love you.” 

Bara stood like a statue, not moving a muscle, nor 
could she utter a single word. The huntsman did not 
know how to interpret this but, wishing to learn the 
truth, even if it should prove bitter for him, he again 
asked Bara if she would become his wife. Then the 
girl burst into tears and cried out: “‘Dear God! Is it 
really true that you love me?” The huntsman assured 
her with his lips and the warm clasp of his hand, and 
only then did she avow her long-cherished love for him. 

Having come to a happy understanding, they emerged 
and knelt before Jacob. The huntsman said: “You 
know me, father, and you know that for a long time 
now I have been amply able to support a wife. But 
none pleased until I saw your daughter. I fell in love 
with her that very first time. She and I have just 
come to an agreement, and we want your blessing. 





“BEWITCHED BARA” 217 


Even though we are in a cemetery, this, too, is God’s 
domain—God Himself is everywhere!” 

Jacob did not ask any long-drawn-out questions, 
only assuring himself that Bara herself was contented. 
He gave them his blessing and then the three made 
further plans and arrangements. 

How astonished the sexton was when, after ringing 
the morning bell for early prayers, he came for Bara 
and found her in the company of her father and her 
accepted suitor, as the huntsman immediately an- 
nounced himself to be. 

There was even greater amazement at the parsonage 
and in the entire village. The people had thought 
Bara would be tamed down, the Lord only knows how 
much, and how humble she would be—and now she 
was returning as the betrothed of such a splendid 
man. They could not even believe it to be possible 
that “bewitched Bara’’ could win anyone’s love—but 
it had come to pass. 

“She has luck from hell itself,”’ the girls in the village 
told each other. 

But sincere and great was the rejoicing of ElSka when 
Bara brought her lover to her friend. 

“See, God has repaid the service that you rendered 
me and for which you suffered so much. I knew that 
you would find a man who would truly love you. You 
must love her deeply—for she deserves it most fully,” 
the good girl said, turning to the huntsman and ex- 
tending her hand, which he clasped earnestly. 


218 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The huntsman wished very much to take Bara with 
him at once, but things did not move as rapidly as that, 
as Miss Pepinka would not consent to let Bara go 
before the formal wedding. Better to have all three 
publications of the banns of marriage at once when the 
bridegroom is impatient. Jacob, too, could not at 
once tear himself from the herdsman’s cottage. 

Bara grieved most deeply about ElSka. But the 
next day a letter arrived from Prague for the priest, 
in which the aunt stated that she would bequeath 
all her wealth to her niece on the single condition that 
she marry the young doctor who had cured her (the 
aunt) and that the priest should ask Elka to decide yes 
or no on the matter. When also a special letter was 
enclosed for Elka full of the most beautiful hopes for 
an early meeting, then Bara had no more unfulfilled 
desires. 

Before the wedding all the people of the village be- 
came reconciled with Bara. Even the sexton’s wife 
wished her happiness and handed her a letter from 
Josifek. ElSka read it to Bara and then only did the 
latter learn what Elska had long known, that Josifek 
loved her and only on Bara’s account had not wanted 
to become a priest. But since she was to marry 
another he would now accede to his parents’ wishes 
and enter the priesthood. 

A week later Miss Pepinka prepared a fine wedding 
for Bara. The huntsman’s dear old mother came also 
to take away with her the daughter to whose coming 


kt, 


ii 


“BEWITCHED BARA” 219 


she had looked forward for a long time. Jacob went 
with them. 

When the huntsman was leading his young wife 
through the house he brought her to the room which 
had been his own. From the wall above the bed he 
took down a wreath which was now all withered. 

“Do you recognize it?” he asked Bara. It was the 
very wreath which had caught on the branches of the 
willow on St. John’s morn. Bara smiled. 

“Whom were you thinking of when you threw it to 
the water?” questioned the huntsman, drawing her to 
his heart. 

Bara did not answer, but put her arms around his 
neck and lifted up to him a pair of lovely, smiling eyes 
which the people had called “bull’s eyes,’’ but which the 
huntsman regarded as the most beautiful eyes in the 
whole wide world. 








ALOIS JIRASEK 


(Born August 23, 1851, in Hronov.) 


Atos JrrAsEK was born of a family of small farmers 
and weavers of modest means. In his native district 
near Nachod, the bloodiest scenes of the Prussian war 
of 1866 took place and on young Jirdsek that period 
of his country’s history left an ineffaceable effect. 
The wars in which his people fell, from earliest times 
to his own day, whether in a cause they themselves 
upheld or to gain the selfish ends of the monarch 
who controlled the man power of the nation, form the 
basis of most of his elaborate historical novels as well 
as of many of his shorter tales. 

While an instructor in the college at LitomySl, 
where he remained some eighteen years, he gathered 
further material for novels whose background shows his 
intimate knowledge of the history and traditions of 
that locality rich in the lore he sought. His student 
novels “Filosofské Historie’? (A Philosopher’s Story) 
on which he later based his drama “M. D. Rettigov4,” 
together with all the stories included in his “Malo- 
méstské Historie’? (Small Town Stories), his three- 
part novel “F. L. Vék” concerned with the torchbearers 


of literary, linguistic and political progress, his drama 
221 


222 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Vojnarka” based on the later religious struggle of 
the Czechs, the sharply cut figures in his play of 
“Otec” all owe their origin to the influence of the 
Litomysl district. 

Jirasek excels as a novelist in using the times of John 
Huss and the Hussite Wars as a background and in 
merging himself deep in the significance of that period 
for his nation and for the world in general. The 
first fruits of his study of the spiritual revolution in 
Bohemia was his romance, ““Slavny Den” (The Glori- 
ous Day) in the collection entitled “In Stormy Days.” 
The crest of the Hussite period is described in “ Proti 
VSem”’ (Against All) which had been prepared for in 
the “‘Mezi Proudy”’ (Between Currents), and these two 
books with “Bratrstvo” (Brotherhood) complete a 
wonderful trilogy. In the final work “Bratrstvo,” 
Jirasek rises to his best as a painter of far-reaching 
struggles and great national enthusiasms. Here 
Henryk Sienkiewicz in no wise excels the Czech artist. 

In “V Cizich Sluzbach”’ (In Foreign Service) Jirasek 
gives a close but heartbreaking view of the part played 
by a chivalrous Czech in the defense of a Bavarian 
ruler—another tragic parallel to the “Anabasis.” 

His short stories, like his more extensive pieces of 
work, are concerned with three main themes: first the 
splendor of the non-producing class—the nobility— 
contrasted with the squalor and sorrow of the workers, 
second, the careers of the soldiers of his native land in 
home and foreign fields, and third, the life of the people 


ALOIS JIRASEK 223 


of his native district during the period of the nation’s 
downfall. His best known collections are the “Small 
Town Tales,” “In Stormy Days,” “Short Stories and 
Sketches,” “Homeward and Other Sketches,” and 
“From Diverse Ages.”” A very popular collection of 
legends of local Czech origin is his “Staré Povésti 
Ceské” (Old Czech Legends) published in 1894 and 
later issued in several editions. Another favorite 
collection for younger readers is his “From Bohemia 
to the End of the World.” Alois Jirasek has been the 
recipient of many honors from his countrymen in recent 
times, in recognition of his many and great contribu- 
tions to literature and of his work in building up 
through his stalwart patriotism and opposition to 
lukewarmness and hypocrisy a sturdy uncompromising 
spirit in matters pertaining to the national welfare. 





THE PHILOSOPHERS 


BY ALOIS JIRASEK 


Tue old entrenchment of a field battery near the small 
wood, now half sunken and overgrown with shrubbery, 
has stood in the solitude of the fields for a good hun- 
dred years. It alone has remained of all the fortifi- 
cations and mounds which extended here in a long line 
through the plain, concealing numberless Prussian 
cannon aimed against the emperor’s army protected 
by trenches. Now it resembles an ancient tomb in 
which herdsmen, on misty mornings or cold evenings, 
build fires to warm themselves and from which they 
halloo into the distance. 

In the year 1778 during the war over the Bavarian 
succession, all the country along the Medhuj and the 
upper Elbe, containing two armies, resembled an 
immense anthill. At the head of the Prussian army, 
Friedrich; against him, Joseph, both philosophers. 

A heavy fog had settled on the country like a deep 
lake. It was early in the morning, quiet and soundless, 
as if not a soldier were near. Nowhere was ringing of 
bells permitted, but instead there sounded, in a man’s 
voice, the old song “Whoever the protection of the 
Highest—”’ 

225 


226 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Vaclav Suk, soldier of the emperor’s regiment under 
Hiller, standing far out in the front guard on the edge 
of the grassy dale, heard that song. Thick underbrush 
concealed half his body. Because it was cold he had 
rolled his gray cape closely up to his three-cornered 
hat so that not even his braided cue was visible. And 
now came that song—as if from directly opposite him! 
Was the enemy so close? How could it be? 

Suk liked best a worldly song with his comrades 
beside the fire or before the booth of some youthful 
female cantiniére, but this time the religious song 
moved him strangely. His grandmother used to sing it 
from parlor to bedroom and from chamber to garret, 
when her loose slippers, pattering, woke the whole 
household. 

Suk took up the song also. The voice opposite 
ceased for a moment, then sounded anew and the old 
song was carried on the waves of the gradually lifting 
fog. 

Vaclav, however, could not stand it long. His curi- 
osity got the better of him. The unknown on the other 
side of the hollow sang on like a music master and it 
seemed as if he wished to finish out the stanzas just as 
Suk’s grandmother used to do. 

“Say, you, over there, are you a soldier?” 

That is how Suk began the conversation and he did 
not speak into unanswering mist. He learned that he 
was talking with a soldier of the Prussian advance 
guard. 


THE PHILOSOPHERS 227 


“And how is it that you are a Brandenburger and 
yet speak the Czech language?” 

“Tam a Czech of Kladsko on the Bohemian borders. 
I am serving in the army, by God’s will, my second 
year now—.” 

“He is a pious man,” thought Suk to himself. 
“Without a doubt he is of the Helvetian confession,” 
and he expressed this conjecture aloud. The Prussian 
confirmed the surmise. 

“And what is your name?” 

“Jan Kolaény.” 

“And here we are talking—what would our masters 
say to us?” 

“Why, are we doing something wicked?” 

“To be sure, we are fellow countrymen, both 
Czechs. When will such a meeting as this occur 
again?” 

The conversation lagged. Suk saw through the mist 
which was gradually growing lighter the silhouette of 
the Prussian soldier in his spiked cap resembling a 
bishop’s mitre. He was standing beside an old thickly 
crowned bushy beech. After a pause, Suk began, 
“It’s very cold to-day—.” 

“It is. Come here and get warm.” Koldény 
urged as genuinely as if he stood on the threshold of 
his snow-covered mountain cottage. 

“Where?” 

“Here to me. I have a full bottle—.” 

Suk stood rigid. Suspicion was awakened. Some 


28 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


trick perhaps—and then—to go away from the spot 
appointed to him as guard! Kolaény understood. 

“Fear not, friend! How could I injure you? Let 
us lay aside our weapons and each go half way.” 
That voice did not deceive and Suk saw that Koléény 
was propping his gun against a tree trunk. He looked 
around and went forward. Half way forward the sol- 
diers met. The Prussian enemy with undisguised 
sincerity extended his hand. 

“Just come, don’t be afraid. You and I have done 
nothing wrong to each other. We are brothers of one 
blood. What matters it to us what the rulers of these 
lands have done to each other?” said the Helvetian 
bible-loving descendant of the exiled Bohemian brethren 
emigrants. And the lively lad from the home king- 
dom understood him. 

As these two deliberated, so, surely, many before 
them had reflected and doubtless many in future shall 
do, whether kings be philosophers or, as Plato dreamed 
—philosophers be kings. 

““And here it ended,” added the old schoolmaster, 
who related the incident to me, as it had been handed 
down from ancient chronicles, indicating the 
ruined earthworks in which we paused to rest. “‘ Both 
of the wise men became engrossed in conversation and 
were caught at it. Here in this place sat the Prussian 
king and hither they brought Kolaény for trial. He 
told all and in a short while after, they shot him down 
over there behind the breastworks. The other one 


THE PHILOSOPHERS 229 


escaped lead and powder, to be sure. But he ran a 
bloody gauntlet and God knows where he completed 
the rest of his punishment.” 

And there you have it—what is there to an army 
that philosophizes and reflects? 





ON 


Ny * inet 
a yr bit ity 
Lie . 





IGNAT HERRMAN 


(Born August 12, 1854, in Chotébo¥.) 


Herrman worked himself up from a lowly grocer ap- 
prenticeship through the gradations of lawyer’s copyist, 
commercial traveler, business manager, court reporter 
to the position of editor of a prominent Prague news- 
paper. In each of these spheres he had ample oppor- 
tunity to study the life of Prague, and it is in his 
faithful presentation of figures in the Bohemian 
capital that he is at his best. While he draws faithfully 
—even to their slang—the rougher quarters of the 
city, he is an artist and not a mere photographer or 
phonograph record. His short stories of character and 
incident breathe an underlying understanding of human 
nature and the sympathy of a true member of the 
‘brotherhood of man. In all his works, the touch of 
quiet humor which his public always enjoyed, for it is 
seldom tinged with sarcasm, was never lacking. 
Oddly enough, his only somber work, “U Snédeného 
Kramu” (The Ruined Shop), detailing the downfall of 
a Prague shop-keeping family, is adjudged to be his 
best, though two humorous novels, “Otee Kondelik a 
Zenich Vejvara” (Father Kondelik and Suitor Vej- 
vara’’ and its sequel ie Kondelik a Zet Vejvara” 


232 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


(Father-in-law Kondelik and Son-in-law Vejvara) went 
through several editions. His collections of short 
stories which are most widely read are “Prazské 
Figurky” (Prague Types); ‘“Drobni Lidé”’ (Insignifi- 
cant People); “Z Prazskych Zakouti’ (From Prague 
Nooks) and “Bodfi PrazZané” (Gay Praguers). 

The story selected is from his “Drobni Lidé” and 
was written in 1885. The title refers to an actual 
author, Madame Rettigova, who published several 
novels and also a practical “Domaci Kuchafka” 
(Home Cook-Book). 


WHAT IS OMITTED FROM THE COOK-BOOK 
OF MADAME MAGDALENA DOBROMILA 
RETTIGOVA 


A CHRISTMAS GLEANING 


BY IGNAT HERRMAN 


““Wuy are you all the time fussing in those shelves?” 
howled out the chief counsellor at Konopasek, the day- 
clerk who alone of the force remained in the office on 
Christmas day. 

It was late in the afternoon. The attorney was 
hastily completing some documents in order not to 
have so much to do after the holidays and was angry 
at the clerk, who had already arisen several times from 
his copying work and had been rooting around in the 
cabinet where the supplies were kept. First, he needed 
writing-sand, next he looked for a longer ruler, again 
he picked around among pieces of sealing wax. Up 
to this moment the counsellor had said nothing and 
had only pulled at his nose, as was his habit when in- 
ward wrath overpowered him—but finally the constant 
running about of the lean, gray-haired clerk exasperated 
him to such a pitch that he burst out on him. 


“It’s nothing, Mr. Counsellor, nothing,” 
233 


answered 


234 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Konopasek quickly and his ashen cheeks reddened 
with a faint flush. “I just ran out of twine and I'd 
like to sew up that inventory. I’m just going for a 
fresh ball—” 

“Zounds, man! Don’t you see right there on the 
table before you a ball as big as thunder?” howled the 
counsellor angrily and pointed to a ball of black and 
yellow twine lying right in front of Konopasek’s nose, 
so to speak. 

“You're so excited about your Christmas dinner of 
fried carp that you’re absolutely stupid, it seems to me. 
Ivll not run away.” 

Konop4sek with red cheeks sat down at his place 
and sewed on. After a while, however, he rose again, 
stepped quickly to the door, took the key from the 
wainscot and hastily walked out of the office. 

When he had left, the attorney arose as if something 
had pierced him and with short steps approached the 
cabinet. He opened it and looked at the supplies in 
which Konopasek had been rummaging. There was 
almost nothing inside. Some paper, a bit of string, a 
few sticks of sealing wax and two pairs of scissors. In 
a corner of the compartment were several small circular 
boxes on the lid of each of which was pasted a round 
white wafer, about the size of a cent, a hardened thin 
disk of flour or gelatin used for sealing official docu- 
ments. One of the boxes stood at a little distance from 
the others. The counsellor involuntarily took hold of 
it to push it closer to the others, but suddenly lifted it. 








A CHRISTMAS GLEANING 235 


It was suspiciously light—empty. The counsellor 
raised a second box, shook it—it was empty. He took 
a third, fourth, fifth—all were empty and only the last 
two were filled with the round, white wafers. The 
counsellor pushed his spectacles up on his forehead. 
What did this mean? . . . Why, he himself had bought 
a supply only two weeks ago—on what things could 
they all have been pasted in so short a time? He was 
still standing beside the cabinet when Konopések re- 
entered the office. Observing the attorney beside the 
cabinet, he turned as white as the wall. 

“Well, where did you put all the wafers? Speak up!” 

“Oh, Mr. Counsellor!”’ cried out the pale, trembling 
clerk, clasping his hands imploringly. “Do not 
destroy me—I have a wife and six children!” 

Until that moment the counsellor had not a thought 
of anything irregular, but now he suspected something 
was wrong, yet he could not grasp what it might be. 
The wafers—what had happened? 

The crushed, deadly pale, shivering clerk reached 
with his bony fingers into the tail of his shabby, green- 
ish-colored coat and drew therefrom a pocket-handker- 
chief, filled up, the corners being drawn together and 
tied. 

“Here they are—every one of them,” he stammered 
with chattering teeth. “I will put them all back into 
the boxes."” He untied the corners of the handkerchief 
and poured out on a sheet of paper a small pile of 
waters. 


236 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Now at last the attorney comprehended that the 
clerk had taken them, but why—for what possible 
purpose? And curiosity overpowering his obligatory 
official wrath, the counsellor impatiently exploded. 

‘What did you intend to do with them, Konopések?” 

“‘Supper—an evening meal, your honor!” stuttered 
Konopasek. “It is Christmas day. I haven’t even a 
sixpence. I promised my wife I’d bring some wafers— 
she wanted to bake them with shreds of fat. I have 
six children and I must make some sort of Christmas 
for them. They haven’t eaten all day—there was 
nothing in the house—.” 

The counsellor slid the spectacles down from his 
forehead to his eyes, gazed at the pile of white, taste- 
less, unsalted, starchy wafers and then he meant to 
look at Konopasek, but suddenly his glance shifted 
from the miserable, twitching face with its blue lips on 
which trembled the gray streaked moustache and fixing 
his eyes on the clerk’s faded, stained necktie, he asked, 
“Have you ever eaten them before, Konopdsek?”’ 

“Yes, sir,” uttered the quivering lips of the clerk. 

“Ts the stuff really eatable?’’ asked the amazed 
attorney. 

“Indeed, yes, Mr. Counsellor. Dear Lord, if one 
only had enough of them—.” 

“Put them back into the boxes!”” commanded the 
counsellor in a voice bristling suddenly as he turned to 
his own desk. 

The clerk raked the wafers with his thin, ink-spotted 





A CHRISTMAS GLEANING 237 
fingers and filled the emptied boxes. When he had 


finished this, he sat down on a chair to continue his 
work. But he could not go on. His fingers trembled, 
in his eyes a mist formed and there was a roaring in his 
temples. Shame, dismissal, wretchedness—and after 
all, the children will have nothing to eat to-day! 

The attorney glanced at Konopasek several times and 
wiped his glasses and his eyes, after which he sneezed 
violently a number of times. He, too, could not work. 
He was doubtless angry at the good-for-nothing clerk 
who stole wafers in order to bake them up with shreds 
of fat, for a Christmas dinner for his children. He 
twisted for a while in his chair, rose finally and ap- 
proached the door. The clerk shivered anew. Now 
he was to hear his fate. 

The attorney stepped a little closer to the trans- 
gressor, and not looking at Konopasek, ordered, “Take 
your coat and hat and go to the market. Buy a carp, 
a good big one and take it home to the wife at once, 
you understand? So that she’d have time to get it 
ready. Then buy the children nuts and apples and 
for your wife get a bottle of punch or tea or whatever 
you want to drink after supper. Here, take this and 
get out!” 

At the concluding words, he drew from his pocket a 
wallet, opened it, took out a bit of paper and laid it on 
the table. The astonished Konopasek saw before him 
a ten-florin note. 

“Jesus Mary, Mr. Counsellor 


"9? 
. 


broke from the lips 


238 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


of Konopasek. But further words he was unable to 
utter. Perhaps, because the attorney made a violent 
gesture of protest or more likely, because the poor 
clerk’s whole face and body quivered as with chills and 
fever. He was choked with amazement, surprise, 
joy—all! 

In an instant after, the counsellor remained alone in 
the office, but he had no more inclination to work. He 
arose after a while, put on his handsome fur cloak, 
thrust his hands into his shaggy modern woolly mittens 
and, closing the office, departed. He walked lightly, 
joyously—and thought of his own six children 
looking forward to the delight they would have over 
the gifts which for many weeks were being collected in 
a rear room. But at times a sort of dejection and 
melancholy oppressed him. That was whenever his 
thoughts involuntarily reverted to Konopdsek and his 
“wafers with shreds of fat,” as the clerk had described 
the dish. 


—o 


JAN KLECANDA 


(Born March 5, 1855, in Prague.) 


Amonc the newspaper men of Bohemia who have be- 
come prolific story writers is Jan Klecanda, who fora 
long period of years has been in the service of the Czech 
minority in the northern part of Bohemia where the 
German population has steadily increased through 
systematic efforts to dispossess the native Czechs. 

He is a productive writer who has to his credit 
twenty-one volumes of novels, sketches and short 
stories chiefly depicting life among the laboring classes 
and the nationalistic struggles of the Czechs against 
the Teutons in the territory adjacent to the northern 
boundary. 

Mr. Klecanda has had the opportunity of observing 
acutely the methods of Germanization practiced in the 
borderland of his own country, which was systemati- 
cally invaded by those who sowed propaganda through 
the agency of industrial enterprises on purchased lands. 
Often he saw children alienated from their parents and 
taught to scorn their native tongue by the enforced 
substitution in the north Bohemian districts of the 
German for the Czech language. The accompanying 
story “For the Land of His Fathers” (Za Pidu Oteti) 

239 


240 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


is taken from the collection entitled “Tvrdé Hlavy” 
(Stubborn Heads), which has enjoyed much popularity. 

Other collections of stories ranging from tragedy and 
pathos to gentlest humor are: “Mezi Viry a Skalisky” 
(Among Whirlpools and Cliffs); “Hrdinové Mal¥ch 
Romani” (Heroes of Small Romances); “Vojaci v 
Miru” (Warriors of Peace); “Na BojiSti’ (On the 
Battle Field), the last two of which went through 
several editions. 


bs 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 
BY JAN KLECANDA 


I 


“Farner!” sounded the voice of the young master of 
the estate from the courtyard. 

“Well, what is it?” responded his old father with an 
ill-humored question which expressed no pleasant 
anticipation of what the “young master’ would have 
to say. 

“Oh, well, nothing! I just thought I’d mention a 
certain matter so you'd not be too frightened when the 
gentlemen come to-morrow,” the younger man said 
somewhat irresolutely, and throwing away the ax with 
which he had been splitting wood, he straightened up 
from his work as if preparing to ward off an attack. 

“What's that?—‘gentlemen’ to see us? What 
kind of ‘gentlemen’? From the courts? For the 
execution of a mortgage?” the questions fairly rushed 
from the fear tightened throat of the old man, who, 
though in his sixties, was still stalwart. 

“Why, what are you thinking of?” the young man 
waved his hand, rather glad that his father had imme- 
diately suspected something evil and that, therefore, 


his report would affect him the less. ‘The German 
241 


242 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


gentlemen from the factory will come here to inspect 
the place.” 

“And what have they to inspect here? Has some- 
thing been lost from the factory and has suspicion 
fallen on you?”” The words were as if ejected from the 
lips of the old man as he leaped close to the fence on 
which he leaned the better to look closely into his 
son’s eyes. 

“What wild guesses you are making to-day. Am I 
a ruffian or thief to have that sort of visitations? And 
if they did have it in for me, they surely wouldn’t 
announce their visit beforehand.’ 

“Of course, of course!’’ assented the old man. 
“Such a visit, though, is as rare as if it fell from heaven, 
even though the devil may bring them. You don’t 
have an idea where or why,—and a gendarme lands 
before you with handcuffs, and the mayor—but God 
save us from that!” 

“There, there! Don’t worry about the gentlemen 
from the courts and their helpers!” 

“Well, then, tell what’s happened and don’t torture 
me! It won’t be anything pleasant, I’m sure, for these 
German “gentlemen’”’ never cross the threshold of a 
poor man to bring him anything good!” 

“Well—you'll see! You yourself say, ‘There is no 
rule without an exception,’ and this time it’s proven 
true. Money is something good, isn’t it?” 

“Money? I should say so!” assented the old man, 
delighted, but in the next instant he burst out with 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 243 


another doubt. “But why should the gentlemen run 
after you?” 

“Oh, that’s all a part of it!” the young man drew 
himself up boastfully. “Only that they won’t run, 
but will come in style in a carriage and then I will ride 
away with them!” 

“You will ride?—That’s getting better all the time, 
boy! When our rich men give one a ride, then it’s 
sure to end well! Well, hurry up and speak!” 

“Speak, speak! But you don’t let a man get in a 
word. Well, then listen. I’ve made an agreement 
with the gentleman that I'll sell him this hut.” The 
young man spoke rapidly as if to have the confes- 
sion out. 

“What? What’s that you said, in God’s name?” 
shrieked the old man and leaped up as if a hornet had 
stung him. . 

““Well—now—I’'m speaking Czech and loud enough, 
too,”” growled the son peevishly, angered by his father’s 
terror, which augured nothing good. 

“But still I did not understand you, Joseph! Say 
it again, I beg of you,” pleaded the older man in an 
appeasing tone. 

“Well, I was saying that I’m going to sell the home- 
stead to the gentleman. He needs a place for a 
building. He needs the garden and also the field 
beyond it.” 

“Needs? Needs? And what is it to you that he 
needs it?” the old man echoed in a threatening voice, 


244 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


and it seemed as if his figure, standing erect on the 
other side of the fence, had grown in height. 

“Well, you needn’t yell at me as if I were a mere 
boy, or half the village will come running here,” 
the son said soothingly. “It’s nothing to me what he 
needs, but it is something to me that he is offering a 
thousand more than the place is really worth, and a 
thousand extra is mighty good money these days.” 

The old man did not speak at once, but pushed his 
shaggy cap back on his head and with his calloused 
hand wiped off the sweat which had burst out on his 
forehead. Then he stepped to the gate which he 
pushed open with his foot and entered the yard. He 
stalked towards his son with energetic strides and 
grasped his stick firmly as if he intended to use it. 

Pausing before his son, in deep yet sharp tones he 
uttered, ““A thousand—you are right—is good money, 
providing it is honest profit!” 

“And isn’t this honest, when I sell what is mine?” 
the young man defended himself rebelliously, irritated 
by his father’s opposition. 

The old man vainly gasped for breath enough to 
answer. His face turned red, then paled and purpled 
with emotion and wrath. Joseph saw his father’s 
struggle, but in order to avoid looking at him, he 
turned away, picked up his ax and started at his 
work again. 

“Leave that alone, now, Joseph! It won’t run 
away!”’ the old man forced himself to be gentle when 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 245 


he could again regain his speech. “Let’s go into the 
house and talk it over.” 

His son, however, frowned, but still did not dare raise 
any objection. He threw the ax away, kicked fiercely 
at the pile of wood until it scattered in all directions 
and then followed his father, muttering in vexation, 
“A man has to go into a conference just when he has so 
much to do that he doesn’t know what to leap at 
first.” 

The father, acting as if he did not see his son’s anger, 
went to the house, opened the door and stooping, en- 
tered. The young man followed but he did not need 
to stoop to enter. 

When they had stepped inside, the old man threw 
his cap on the table behind which he seated himself 
on the bench near the wall. The young man remained 
standing near the door, crushing his cap in his hands 
in sullen indecision. 

“Well, come on and sit down, Joseph,” the old man 
urged in the most agreeable tones he could force from 
his throat. ‘You are the master here and it is not 
fitting that you should stand at the door like some 
passing vagabond!” 

“So there! I’m the master, am I?” said the son in 
cutting tones, and approaching the table, sat down 
sprawlingly on the chair. He gazed at his father in a 
challenging manner as if he wished to frighten him and 
give himself more courage. 

“Master, to be sure!” repeated the old man. 


246 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


““Haven’t I always shown respect for you as the master 
of the place, even though you are the son and I the 
father? You are master of all here except of my little 
reserve plot,’’! he uttered the last words with distinct 
emphasis as if he were treading on a loud pedal for each 
syllable, “and what you command, shall be done. 
May it all be worthy!” 

“And don’t I look after the homestead as well as can 
be done? Haven’t I grubbed out of this dry soil 
every bit that it possibly could be lashed into giving? 
And won’t I give you all that is written down in the 
contract?” the son struck out at his father. 

“Don’t scold me that way. I don’t want any 
quarrels. I say, not an egg nor a liter of milk have 
you or Apolena cheated me out of —May God repay 
her for it! And you labor and save—all honor to you 
both!” gravely spoke the aged man. 

“Well, then what’s the matter?” violently hurled 
back the son, adding quickly, “And all this toiling— 
what’s it all for? You can’t make a living on it. It 
will sooner raise thorns and weeds than grain enough 
for a loaf of bread, without even speaking of kolaée. 
So, what to do with it?” 

“May God not punish you for those hard words,” 
cried the father in deep grief. ‘Honestly has this 





1 The word is “‘vymének,” signifying a small cottage with enough 
attached land or a sum set aside to provide maintenance for a parent 
who has bequeathed all his property to the children and has retired 
from its active management. It is a custom among the Czechs 
and Slovaks to reserve a plot of ground or a pension for their old age. 





FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 247 


soil supported us and before us our grandfather and 
before him all our forefathers. From time out of mind 
the NeSnéras have occupied this land and have pro- 
vided dowers for their daughters and portions for the 
sons, as well as has anyone else and yet there was 
always bread enough remaining for all. And you are 
not able to make a living here when you had no debts 
to pay and are the.only child?” 

“Make a living or not—that isn’t the question! I 
don’t want to. I’ve had enough of plodding over these 
clods. And why shouldn’t I sell when he wants it and 
will pay well for it?” 

“Dear Christ Jesus!” sighed the old man. ‘When 
you talk this way and only chatter of money, we never 
will get to an agreement.” 

“So you see, father, it’s best not to talk at all. You 
know I’ve inherited a head as stubborn as yours and 
what gets sown in it, you can’t thresh out with a 
club,” the son reminded him almost gently. 

But that gentleness which was forced and artificial 
was like oil poured on a fire. The old man leaped up, 
and swinging his heavy cane over his head, screamed, 
“Tf I knew it would help, if it’s to be a question of 
your head or my stick, Pd—.” 

The door creaked and the son’s wife with their two 
boys entered. The old man, seeing his daughter-in- 
law with the children, quickly laid his stick on the 
table. He honored in his son the father of a family 
and did not wish to cause unpleasantness for the children. 


248 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“What are you coming here for? Who called you 
in?” the young man burst out angrily at his wife. 

“We surely belong here without being called in, 
don’t we? And your wife can hear what you have to 
say to your father?” the mistress of the home calmly 
answered. 

“Right you are, Apolena. Just come here and let 
me hear what you think of this. And you boys also. 
It’s a matter that concerns your inheritance!” 

The master irritably crushed his cap down on his 
head and arose, intending to leave. 

“Stay here, Joseph,” said the old man mildly, yet 
with a tone of firm command, “when I honor the father 
in you, you too, must honor the grandfather in the 
presence of my grandchildren. And after all, it’s the 
concern of the entire family. This land, in the name 
of our Christ Jesus, does not belong to you alone, but to 
all the NeSnéras who, God granting, will yet succeed 
us!” 

“Oh, then talk as much as you please, but I say it’s 
all useless,” said the master and carelessly and with an 
air of resignation he sat down again. 

“Well, then, what do you say to it, Apolena?” the 
old man turned to his daughter-in-law, his voice shaken 
by emotion. “Or didn’t you know, either, that Joseph 
intends to sell this “hut’—as he called it to-day— 
to that German?” 

“In God’s name, father!” burst forth the young 
woman and tears suddenly filled her eyes. “I have 


7 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 249 


implored him on my knees and with clasped hands. 
I’ve said, ‘Joseph, day and night until my limbs give 
way under me will I toil if only you will not drive us 
out of here.’ But all pleading is in vain. Sooner 
could you squeeze a tear out of a rock!” 

“So much has he hardened against his own family!” 
bitterly complained the old man. ‘And for a miserable 
thousand he has—sold himself!’ 

“And we'll have an easier living! After all, I will 
stay on my own soil, for I’m to look after the place for 
the German master,” the son defended himself in some 
embarrassment. 

“On your own soil? That will be wholly different. 
Now you are master here, then you will be a master’s 
servant or lackey! And you'll serve by the hour! 
When it suits him, he'll drive you out. And you'll 
leave the homestead to which cling the blood and sweat 
of your forefathers. So you wanted an easier living? 
And you seek it at a German’s? My boy, we of the 
mountains are not born for, nor do we fit an easy life. 
What God gave, take, even though it be little—there 
will be enough. But from a German, it is as if you 
accepted water in a sieve!” 

“But it’s to be by written contract! Am I a child 
that I’m to be fooled by empty words? You’ve heard 
that I’m to go in a carriage with them to the notary 
and there it will all be properly recorded.” 

“What will be recorded there? Your shame for 
everlasting memory? Listen, Joseph,’’—the old man 


250 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


spoke almost majestically, raising himself earnestly 
from the bench,—‘‘your aged father, grown gray in 
honest toil, is speaking to you. I, too, might have 
had an easier living. Temptation came to me, also, 
but when I saw you growing up into such a fine, stal- 
wart youth, I said to myself, ‘No, the NeSnéras must 
not die out here on this land of my fathers!’ Look, you 
could cut into this palm of mine, so hardened it is by 
labor. And for whom? For you and yours! And 
why? Because this land is sacred to me, because I 
know how my father and grandfather toiled here. 
That was in the times when the overlord’s feudal lash 
hissed over them. This piece of land, because it lay 
so close to the castle, always pierced the eyes of the 
nobles. They wanted to buy us out—drive us away 
from here. Much blood our fathers shed, but they did 
not yield a single span of the land—And see, Joseph, 
it was only in that way that we have preserved our 
Czech nation by defending every inch of our native 
land in a tooth and nail struggle against our enemy! 
To-day the nation extols us. Yes, in a thousand years 
they will still bless us that we—simple peasants and 
cottagers devoting our lives lovingly to our soil— 
preserved the land untainted for our children!” 
Wonderfully touching, yes, even terrible was the 
look on the grandfather’s face as he stood there livid, 
the muscles of his face torn, his gray hair disarranged 
and pasting itself on his forehead with the perspiration 
that poured from him. The two boys looked in terror 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 251 


first at their grandfather, then at their father who sat 
defiantly with his gaze fastened on the floor. 

Apolena wiping her tear-dimmed eyes on her sleeve, 
approached her husband and laying her hand on his 
shoulder, said in a voice of emotion thrilling with deep 
anxiety, “Father, husband — look! It is your own 
father! You will kill him thus! Is this the way to 
repay him for all his care, in his old age?” 

“Don’t I respect my father? And do I want to 
injure him? He, too, will be better off in a new place 
than now—”’ 

“What? What’s that you said?” screamed the 
father and with the agility of a youth he leaped in 
front of his son. “I am to be with you? In a new 
place? And do you think, Joseph, that you’d drive 
even me out of my own little reserve plot and that I, 
too, will let myself be bought? No, I thank God now, 
that I remembered to keep a little corner for myself 
though I never dreamed it might come to this!” 

“Well, father, when we go, you go with us. A sale 
is a sale, and there all ‘reserve rights’ cease,” said the 
son in a calmer voice. 

“Tf you want to sell your land, sell it,”” responded the 
old man with cutting coldness. “Sell the roof over 
your head, sell your land on which you might have 
rested, sell all that your fathers and forefathers pre- 
served for you for hundreds of years, but what is mine 
you shall not sell, do you understand?” and in the 
speech of the old man there sounded such a threat that 


252 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Joseph dropped his eyes and his wife shivered in 
sudden terror. 

“Husband of mine, in the name of Christ Jesus,” 
she moaned, twining her arms around his neck, “such 
a thing as this has never come between us!” 

“And am I to blame for it? Why are you moaning 
and wailing here?”’ Joseph shouted as he pushed her 
away so roughly that she staggered. 

~There was no need to notice it, for Joseph in reality 

had not struck his wife. Old NeSnéra might not have 
_ noticed it ordinarily, for he never meddled in their 
affairs. But to-day, Apolena was on his side and the 
deed offered a welcome opportunity for him to rebuke 
his son. 

“So my son Joseph beats his wife because she tal-os 
the part of her father-in-law?” he shrieked. “Did yc. 
ever see me raise my hand against your mother?” 

The young master feeling that in this instance a 
wrong was being done to him, for he had not even 
thought of striking his wife, jumped up, seized his cap, 
and rushed out of the room. Out in the yard, he 
paused, lifted his cap, and ran his hand over his brow 
as if wiping away the perspiration and then, spitting 
in disgust, walked out towards the highway. 

In domestic quarrels, the sole consolation and 
refuge of the one who forsakes the battlefield is 
the tavern. And so Ne&néra, too, directed his steps 
to the inn to drown the entire ugly occurrence in 
beer. 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 253 


At home, for a while after his departure, a painful 
silence reigned. The old man felt that he had wronged 
his son in his last speech and for that reason he was 
slightly shaken in his own stand, so firm heretofore. 
But NeSnéra was too honest a man not to own frankly 
that he was at fault. 

“You know, Apolenka,’” he said after a moment, 
“Joseph did not even intend to strike you. It was 
only an accident—” 

“But he didn’t even hurt me, father,” eagerly the 
wife defended him. ‘He just swung his arm—”’ 

“Well, then, praise be to God, that from that quarter 
the clouds are driven away,” the old man rejoiced. 
“Now, if only we can chase the shadows away in the 
other matter. But you are with me in that and you 
will not permit the land which bore so many NeSnéras 
to go into a stranger’s hands. You see, Apolenka, you, 
too, are of peasant origin and though you were not 
born under this roof, you feel with me what it would 
mean to have our property fall into alien hands!” 


> 


II 


“Well, what’s up. Why are you rushing about with 
your eyes on top of your head, as if you were hunting 
a midwife?” so one of young NeSnéra’s friends at the 
inn greeted him while the others burst into merry 
laughter. 

“Oh, nothing!” Joseph disposed of the inquisitive 
one peevishly. ‘Had a little squabble at home,” 


254 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“With whom? With your wife or the old father?” 
asked another. 

“Well, since you must know,” NeSnéra turned to his 
interlocutor, examining him a few moments as if to 
decide whether it was worth while to answer him, 
“with both of them!” 

“Ho! ho, poor fellow! That surely is a hot bath 
when not only one’s wife but father as well rip into 
one,” laughed a young man, but the other, an older 
man, spoke gravely. 

“Well, let it be, Frank. It’s always better if the 
wife stands with the old father than against him. 
And especially at Josifek’s house. I don’t know what 
they quarrelled about, but Dll wager the old man 
wasn’t any farther off from the truth than you could 
make in one jump.” 

Joseph looked at the speaker disapprovingly, spat 
through his teeth, shoved his cap further back on his 
head, and having seated himself, emptied half the glass 
which the innkeeper placed before him. 

“And to prove that I’m a fortune-teller,” cried the 
one who had been called ‘Frank,’ “Ill tell you the 
cause of the trouble! It was about the homestead, 
wasn’t it? Tl bet the old man raised the devil, 
didn’t he?” 

Old Halama, the neighbor who had previously taken 
the part of Joseph’s father, looked searchingly at the 
young master of the estate, and when he nodded assent 
to Frank’s “guess,” he arose from his chair. Halama’s 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 255 


face had become grave and yet simultaneously there 
appeared a wild cast to his features which an artist 
might have caught, but which it is impossible to 
describe. 

“What is that, Joseph? Is it really true? Some 
people said it, but I didn’t want to believe it!” 

“And why didn’t you want to believe it?” young 
NeSnéra braced himself as if for a fight. 

“Hold on there! Don’t get into that pose with me! 
You were still a lad looking for mushrooms when I 
was a comrade of your father’s,” neighbor Halama 
admonished Joseph. “But if you want to hear what 
I didn’t want to believe, I'll tell you without stuttering. 
I couldn’t believe that a NeSnéra would ever sell the es- 
tate on which the blood and sweat as well as the bless- 
ings and prayers of generations rest! Do you know, 
Joseph, what your ancestors suffered, what your 
father struggled through? And especially your grand- 
father, God grant him everlasting glory! The German 
lords were determined to possess your estate, saying 
it would just suit their needs. They made him offers 
—promises—but he never gave in. Then they worked 
up a plot making him out a rebel or something and 
put him in the dark dungeon of the castle. Each day 
they took him out to torture him, stretched him on the 
rack, and after each infliction of terrible physical 
suffering, they asked him, ‘Will you sell by fair 
means?’ But he always replied, ‘If you call these 
“*fair means,” I'll wait till there are fairer.’ And they 


256 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


would have beaten him to death, I believe, if the good 
Lord Himself hadn’t decided to take a hand in things, 
for once, during the execution of one of their fiendish 
orders of torture, the Director himself was struck by 
lightning. The Countess fainted dead away.” 

“Well and what of it?” cynically asked young 
NeSnéra. “Because my old folks were stubborn 
headed and didn’t understand what was to their own 
disadvantage, should we be so, too? If someone wants 
to buy my land and pays well, I can buy elsewhere and 
it’s Just as good!” 

The neighbors looked breathlessly at old Halama to 
hear what he would say to that. Some thought that 
young NeSnéra was in the right, others felt, but could 
not express why they felt, he was wholly wrong. 

Old Halama seemed to sense the gravity of the mo- 
ment. He lost himself in thought for a while, appearing 
to look off into a corner somewhere and a considerable 
time elapsed before he spoke. 

“You see, Joseph, these are things which are hard 
to explain by mere reasoning if the heart doesn’t 
listen. The right feeling has to be here under the 
vest. These are strange things. Perhaps a learned 
man could find the proper paragraph in books to cover 
the case, but I don’t know any more than the Ten 
Commandments and what I have written in my heart, 
‘Honor thy father and thy mother’-—and I do honor 
their work, their sufferings! They did not bequeath 
me very much, but I value it because it was inherited 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 257 


from them. Even my very name, Halama,' which 
isn’t very pretty, I honor. My great-grandfather 
received that name from the German overlords because 
he was indomitable and refused to kiss the lash with 
which they beat him. And that name given by the 
nobility to insult him has become my pride. None of 
my sons is ashamed of his father, even if he is only 
a Halama—” 

“Eh, those are only speeches.” NeSnéra waved his 
hand vexedly, drowning his discomfiture in a glass. 

“Speeches they are, but not empty ones! No 
evasions, you understand?” Halama would not per- 
mit himself to be interrupted once having gotten into 
the current. “And it is true that you can do as you 
please with your own property. You’re not sinning 
against any legal ordinance nor can anyone send you 
to court for it. But you are committing a sin against 
your own people on the land of your fathers. What 
would become of us if everyone renounced his land 
as easily as you have done? You get rid of it 
in order to gain a few dollars, another to avoid 
some misfortune—” 

“And soon the Germans would buy up in that way 
our very mountains beneath our feet,” echoed in warm 
assent Vavrik, one of the young men. “TI felt at once 
that Joseph wasn’t doing the right thing. And what’s 
worst of all about it, he’s selling the ground for a 
German school! What do we need of it here?” 


' Halama—a stubborn churl. 


258 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Well, is it to your disadvantage that you know 
German?” Joseph turned on Vavrik. 

“No. It’s good to know languages, and the more a 
person knows the better it is for him. But, for all 
that, I’m not going to send my children to a German 
school. No—not for anything! Time enough to 
learn it when they grow up and go among people as I 
did. And for that matter, I never studied it. In 
extreme cases one needs it in trading. But a German 
school? It isn’t that the German teacher instructs in 
the language—but that he teaches the children to 
think and feel like Germans. And do you know what 
that means? You don’t, but I'll tell you. It means 
that some day your boy will be ashamed of his father 
and of his language and will probably spit upon your 
grave because he didn’t have a better father.” 

“Ho! ho! ho! It surely won’t be quite so bad as 
that,” Jachymek checked him. “You're just saying 
that because you envy NeSnéra since he is to have a 
neat profit, and not you. What kind of misfortune is— 
a German school? It doesn’t mean that you'll all 
have to become Germans—and even though it did— 
what of it? The master wants it because he is a 
master and a good one. Why didn’t some Czech build 
us a factory here?” 

“And so you're going to kiss his hand because he 
pays you your well-earned wages?” 

“That I will, if the time comes!” 

“And you don’t realize, do you, that that same 


42, 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 259 


hand, through the erection of the factory, struck out 
of your reach your former greater earnings? You 
don’t seem to figure it out for yourself that from your 
honest labor you barely eke out a miserable living, 
while he from your toil makes big capital? And for 
that paltry wage you want to sell him your blood as 
well?” queried Vaviik excitedly. 

“Say what you please, but a master is a master and 
he whose bread you eat—well—you know,” Jachymek 
defended himself. “I don’t blame NeSnéra. He will 
make money by the deal, will better himself and 
children, so where’s the harm?” 

“Well, may it bring him a blessing,” old Halama 
ended the conversation, and started another topic in 
order to conclude a profitless quarrel during which the 
heart in his body could hardly keep from quivering to 
pieces. 


il 


It was Sunday and work on the fields and in the 
factory rested. The inhabitants of the village, in 
part factory hands and in part peasants or really house- 
holders who, in addition to their labors on the fields, 
worked part time in the factory or at home behind the 
loom, stood around on thresholds with their pipes in 
their mouths, waiting till the “gentlemen” rode by. 
It was generally known what would take place at the 
NeSnéras’ to-day, and after the custom of people, some 
condemned, while others commended the young house- 


260 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


holder for selling his cottage for a school and his lands 
for the extension of the nobility’s park. 

Just as had happened yesterday at the inn, so to-day 
in the village square, various opinions were heard 
regarding the German school, but of those who found a 
means of livelihood at the factory, not one ventured to 
say aloud just what he thought. 

Only Makovec, one of those hard mountaineer 
heads, which when it makes up its mind to push through 
its ideas, would even have charged a stone wall at full 
speed, publicly spoke out against it, and when they 
tried to pacify him, saying someone would inform on 
him at the German master’s, he grew even more 
furious. 

“Yes, indeed! It’s a mighty sad thing that we're all 
bought up, for we’re ready to sell one another if the 
‘master’ smiles at us or places us on a better job. 
There didn’t use to be such corruption among us— 
not even when we were bondmen under the imported 
German nobility!’ 

“That’s because money is everything now,” vigor- 
ously assented Halama, who had joined the group. 
“For money Joseph is selling the roof over his father’s 
head!” 

“Well, we haven’t yet had a drink on the earnest 
money. Old Ne&néra won’t let it come to pass, 
you'll see!’ 

While there were plenty of opinions and knowing 
discussions in the village, at the NeSnéras’ there was 


’ 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 261 


absolute silence. The mistress put the house in order 
and walked silently from room to room, imploringly 
trying at times to catch the eye of her husband with 
her own tearful ones. 

She dared not speak. She knew, too, that she could 
accomplish nothing by words when Joseph had made 
up his mind about anything. The old man, also, was 
as if dumb. His face wore a scowl and the son and 
father passed by each other like dog and cat. 

Finally the carriage came rumbling along. The 
“gentlemen” were coming. The villagers, according 
to the degree dependent on the factory, greeted them 
more or less humbly or indifferently, and watched, with 
pipes in mouths, the passing “nobility.” When the 
carriage stopped and the factory proprietor, Schlosser, 
with his manager stepped out and entered the gate, 
the neighbors came from all sides and trooped after 
them. Halama, Vavrik, Makovec and also Jachymek 
and a host of others were all there. 

The factory owner, Schlosser, expecting a showy 
greeting, was a little surprised that no one came out to 
meet him. Joseph was ashamed, though ordinarily he 
would have gone out on the threshold of his little court 
to welcome every guest. But to-day he barely opened 
the door with some timidity and bowed them in. 

Schlosser entered with his hat on his head, the 
manager after him, and then the rest crowded into the 
doors as tightly as they could. 

The factory owner with the affable condescension of 


262 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


an indulgent ruler to his subjects, made a gesture with 
his hand towards both old and young Ne&néra. 

“Well, how is it, old man? Did we come to an 
agreement?” he asked with a hard foreign accent. 

“The gentleman hasn’t been making any proposi- 
tions to me,” answered old NeSnéra, gazing with 
significant intimation at Schlosser’s hat until the latter 
grasped the reproach suggested and removed it from 
his head. 

“Good, good!” nodded NeSnéra contentedly. “We 
have on the walls pictures of our sainted protectors 
and they, at least, deserve that all who enter should 
bare their heads in greeting!” 

A rustle of delight was heard from the doorway. 

Schlosser, a little disconcerted, turned vexedly 
towards the door and asked young NeSnéra, “What 
does this gaping crowd want here?” 

“T say, sir,” the old man answered for his son, “they 
are not ‘a gaping crowd.’ They are neighbors. It’s 
an old custom here that when transactions like this are 
taking place, we never close the doors before our neigh- 
bors. After all, you know, it’s the affair of the entire 
community whether the estate is to be occupied by 
one of our own kind of people or some alien!” 

Schlosser bit his lip, but he did not desire to quarrel 
with the old man. 

“And you? Will you keep your agreement and ride 
with us?” 

“T’ll go, gracious sir. I’m only waiting. It’s no 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 263 


use talking to the old man here. After it’s all under 
the seal, he’ll give in.”’ 

“In order that you two traffickers in human souls 
may know at once just where you stand,” screamed out 
the old man, “Ill enlighten you! I have things so 
arranged that if I should not get along with the young 
people under the same roof, the old drying-kiln over 
there and the potato field near it will be mine to the 
day of my death. And from that I will not part even 
for a thousand, as surely as there is one God above me!” 

The factory owner had too good a knowledge of hu- 
man nature not to realize that all talking was useless 
here. Old NeSnéra stood there, pale, with starting 
eyes and dishevelled gray hair. He was terrible to 
look upon. Even Joseph felt yery uneasy, and eagerly 
accepted the master’s invitation to depart by reaching 
for his hat, which was close at hand. 

But before the young man could step to the door, his 
father blocked the way. Old NeSnéra in the agony of 
his heart, perhaps hardly knowing what he was doing, 
fell on his knees before his son and flung both arms 
around his knees. 

“Joseph, my son!” he cried in a heart-breaking voice. 
“For the living God, have mercy on my gray head, on 
yourself and on your own family! Apolenka, children, 
kneel and implore him! Surely he has not a heart of 
stone, since a Czech mother gave him birth! Why, it 
surely cannot be that one NeSnéra would heap so much 
shame on all the rest!” 


264 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Both the little boys, not even understanding what 
it was all about, knelt down beside their grandfather. 
Apolena, sobbing aloud, leaned against the casement of 
the door. The neighbors, deeply moved and frowning, 
pressed forward. 

Young NeSnéra stood there in painful anxiety and 
only at Schlosser’s beckoning did he recover. 

“Let go of me, father, and don’t make any scenes! 
It’s all useless!” 

“T will not let go,” shrieked the old man wildly. 

“Let go by fair means!’ threateningly shouted the 
son, incensed that he should be forced into such a 
humiliating position in the presence of the “master.” 

“Neither by fair means nor foul!” 

But young NeSnéra, though he was smaller than his 
father, with his iron hands tore loose his father’s hands 
clinging to his knees, and pushed him away so roughly 
that the old man tottered and fell to the floor. Then 
he quickly followed Schlosser and the manager out to 
the courtyard and they hastened to enter the carriage. 

Old NeSnéra picked himself up from the floor and 
with clenched fists, flying locks of gray, looking more 
like a specter than a man, ran out after his son. The 
neighbors who had stepped aside for the gentlemen 
intercepted his way, fearing that something would 


happen. 
“Let me go, let me go! Id rather kill him with my 
own hands than to have him—’’ ejaculated the old 


man in a voice resembling the roaring of an animal 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 265 


more than the tones of a human being. “You're 
going, Joseph, really going? There is no God above 
us if you get there safely! And if you sell, my curse 
goes with you! Do you hear?” 

The factory owner urged the coachman to whip up 
the horses, but, unfortunately, something slipped loose 
on the harness and it was necessary to first fix it. The 
screams of NeSnéra frightened the horses. 

““See—see? God does not wish it!” shrieked the old 
man, half mad with sorrow. 

Vainly the neighbors tried to mollify him. He 
neither heard nor saw, only fought to pull himself free 
of their grasp. And when the carriage started to 
drive away, NeSnéra by superhuman strength threw 
aside those who stood in his way and, seizing a big stone 
in the yard, threw it after the receding carriage. 

A loud scream was heard—NeSnéra had struck the 
manager—but the horses plunged ahead. 

“He gave it to him! Lord, but he struck him 
right! Good for him! Pity he didn’t hit the right 
one!’ these and similar exclamations were heard all 
around. 

NeSnéra, after this explosion, was like one broken 
and burst into loud sobbing, refusing to be quieted 
even after the neighbors had led him into the room. 

The evening of the same day a constable came and 
led away the old man in irons. He made no resistance. 
Many things had happened that day. NeSnéra in 
grief over his son’s treachery had gone to the inn 


266 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


which he had not visited in many years and in his 
wrath had drunk there beyond temperate measure. 
He had bitterly reviled his son and had cursed the 
laws and him who made them. 

Rumors of his speeches had reached Schlosser when 
he returned at noon, bringing Joseph with him as his 
guest. The factory owner rejoiced with glee that he 
had so cheaply gotten rid of the obstinate old man. 
His manager who was quite seriously wounded, re- 
mained in the city. And here was a new ¢rime, the 
crime of insulting His Majesty, the Emperor, which the 
old man in his wild grief had unthinkingly committed 
without consideration of consequences. 

The factory owner knew he could find enough people 
who would act as witnesses, and it was he who had sent 
for the constable. 


IV 


Hard times came to both of the NeSnéras. The old 
man was locked in jail. The young man had lost all 
standing both in the village and in his own home. 
Even those who might have acted as he did now 
charged him with being the cause of his father’s 
misfortune. | 

Half the village was secured to testify to this or that 
crime which the elder NeSnéra had committed. Many 
refused to know anything of what had happened, but 
when they were threatened with punishment. for 
swearing falsely they talked. There was enough 





FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 267 


testimony without requiring that of the son. But 
when he was called he did not dare meet his father’s 
eyes. After they told him he could take advantage of 
the beneficence of the law not requiring a son to testify 
against a father, he arose to depart. 

That instant his gaze fell on his aged father. The 
rough mountaineer could not control his emotion. He 
leaped forward, fell on his knees before his father, and 
weeping, begged for forgiveness. The people in the 
courtroom cried, the witnesses, the judge and even the 
lawyers were touched, but old NeSnéra remained like a 
rock. 

“You sold it?” he asked coldly. “‘Answer—did you 
sell?” 

And when the son dumbly assented, the old man 
pushed him away so that he staggered towards the 
bench occupied by the witnesses. 

“Go then, go! Accursed! I no longer have a son, 
nor you a father! But when they let me go from 
here—”’ 

He was not permitted to speak further. They led 
his son away from the courtroom. This cruel scene 
impressed the judge and jury unfavorably, but in the 
course of the trial, they again were inclined towards 
the stubborn old man who had wished to preserve his 
inherited estate for his descendants. Their decree 
was fairly light. He was sentenced to ten months in 
prison. When the attorney explained to NeSnéra 
that it was absolutely the minimum sentence for two 


268 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


such serious crimes, the convicted man announced 
that he accepted the penalty and was ready to suffer it. 

Those ten months sped as if in winged flight. Old 
NeSnéra, returning one day to his native village, was 
nearly petrified to find a new building in the place 
where his little home used to stand. 

The old man, bent by grief and suffering, straightened 
up fiercely at the unexpected sight. 

“Oh, is that you, Ne&Snéra? Welcome home,” 
sounded a hearty voice. “We didn’t expect you till 
day after to-morrow.” 

NeSnéra silently extended his hand to Halama and 
with the other pointed to the building. 

“It makes your eyes bulge, doesn’t it? That’s the 
new school—a German one! You'll see the inscrip- 
tion. Schlosser made haste—speeded up the building 
of it! In a few days it’s to be consecrated. And say, 
old comrade! There'll be children in plenty there— 
over half of the village. The factory hands and many 
of the others in some way employed by our German 
‘gentlemen’ got a sort of insight that it was vain to 
resist!” 

“And that’s what my son did for you people! You 
must all curse him for it!” 

“Well, I haven’t yet heard anyone praise him.” 

“And what about my reserved portion and cottage? 
Have they torn that down, too?” NeSnéra asked in 
menacing tones. 

“No, they didn’t do that. Your son had it fixed up. 








FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 269 


Wants to get reconciled with you. And your daughter- 
in-law saw to it that everything was made as attractive 
as possible for you. They themselves live here in the 
school. Joseph has a sign over his door, ‘School 
Janitor,’ but it’s in German, in big letters, ‘Schul- 
diener.” You'll be surprised!” 

“Well, [ll not see it,” said the old man, but im- 
mediately fell into thought. A queer idea flashed into 
his head. 

“So you say the school’s to be consecrated in a week? 
Well, I won’t carry the holy water for them during the 
ceremony.” Without any words of parting, he left 
Halama, entered the yard and directed his course 
straight to the old drying kiln which now was newly 
whitewashed and tastefully prepared inside. 

“Joseph, Schuldiener,” cried Halama in muffled 
tones, tapping at the window. “Your old father has 
returned and has gone to his ‘cottage.’”’ 

There was a movement inside the room and Apolenka 
came running out to greet her father-in-law and take 
him to his new abode. Joseph did not yet have the 
courage. 


Vv 


A peculiar change came over old NeSnéra. He never 
had been very loquacious, but from the time he re- 
turned from prison he never spoke a word with anyone. 
He would pat his daughter-in-law and grandchildren on 
the head, but he never offered his hand to his son, and 


270 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


when the latter tried to make friends with him he 
always turned away. 

““A silent madman!” they repeated throughout the 
village. “Poor fellow! His grief went to his head. 
And no wonder!” 

“But what will it be when he sees the celebration 
of the school consecration?” 

““He won't see it! He'll lock himself in his room 
and won’t crawl out.” 

The great day of the school consecration arrived. 
The factory proprietor, Schlosser, exerted every effort 
to arrange a big celebration. He distributed an 
immense number of flags throughout the community, 
mainly the black-and-yellow emblem, but also a few 
red-and-white ones. He himself went from house to 
house. He promised the parish priest to secure funds 
for alterations on the church. He gave his word to the 
mayor that he would personally be responsible for the 
repair of the public highways, which improvement the 
citizens had been unable to secure from the county 
directors. To others he gave promises of this or that 
sort, to the doubters he gave ready money, but to his 
factory employees he merely gave orders to be on hand. 

Schlosser had determined that he must triumph in 
vauntingly ostentatious fashion over the obstinate old 
Czech. And he did triumph. 

On the day of the celebration the entire village, with 
the exception of a few out-and-out old-fashioned Czechs, 
was all rejoicing and excitement from early dawn. Be- 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 271 


yond the church where the procession was forming, they 
were firmg from mortars and bands played merrily. 

Everyone came—the factory foremen and _ their 
wives, the district officials from the city, the priest, 
the schoolmaster and nearly all the villagers. The 
village itself was wholly deserted and at NeSnéra’s, 
that is at the school building, there was not a living soul. 

At that hour, old NeSnéra emerged from his cottage 
and directed his steps to the schoolhouse. He wished 
to enter through the main door, but found it locked. 
In the celebration program, Schlosser was to hand over 
the key which had been gilded for the occasion, to the 
mayor of the community. 

A window in the lower part of the structure had been 
left open and through that the old man with the nimble- 
ness of a youth slipped inside. Then he quickly closed 
the window and went forward into the main hall. 
Moved by a strange thought, he approached the door 
and slid the bolt so that not even by the aid of a key 
could anyone enter the building. Then he inspected 
the hall. The inscription on the wall met his gaze. 
It was in German, but NeSnéra could understand it. 
It read “Everything depends on God’s blessing.” 

“Just wait, Pll give you a blessing,” he muttered, 
shaking his fist. He turned and saw a crucifix on the 
wall. He fell on his knees before it and prayed for a 
long time. Then he arose, his eyes shining with an 
odd light, and betook himself to the upper floor, thence 
to the garret. 


272 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


If someone had passed the school at that moment, 
they would have seen the black-and-yellow banner 
which had been waving from the dormer window disap- 
pear. Almost immediately, however, the heavy flag 
staff was restored. 

Beyond the village the firing of mortars was heard, 
the music began and the procession, now fully formed, 
started on its jubilant march towards the school. At 
that instant, old Ne&néra, with eyes fairly starting 
from their sockets, was kneeling in prayer near the 
dormer window. 

He knelt with clasped hands, his lips repeating the 
prayer of the dying. And when he realized that the 
procession had already turned into the main street 
leading to the school and that in the next moment they 
would be here, he rose and suddenly leaped out. 

The factory proprietor, Schlosser, cursed loudly and 
turned to “Schuldiener”’ NeSnéra, demanding to know 
what had become of the black-and-yellow flag. The 
eyes of all turned towards the dormer, but without 
warning something most remarkable appeared there. 
An unrecognizable figure dropped out of the dormer 
window and then, intercepted in its fall by a rope, 
swung back and forth like a pendulum from the flag 
staff. Later they distinguished that it had hands 
which were wildly gesticulating. 

“Christ Jesus! It is he! It is the old man!” 
echoed from every pair of lips, and the participants in 
the celebration parade in excited haste flew to the 


FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 273 


school. The music became silent, but the mortars 
kept on booming in exultant triumph. 

“The key! Quick, give me the key!” screamed 
Joseph like one stark mad, rushing at Schlosser. 
Apolenka burst into sobs, the children set up a wail, 
Schlosser uttered oath after oath, while his wife, 
beholding the horrible scene, sank to the ground and 
rolled about in spasms. 

In vain did Joseph try to enter the school. The 
throng of people meantime gazed at the corpse of the 
old man which still swung in the breeze. His face, 
around which fluttered his long gray locks and white 
beard, took on in the death struggle a terrible appear- 
ance. The cheeks became ashy, the eyes were rolled up 
and from the open mouth the tongue protruded. 

Women shrieked and covered their eyes with their 
hands. Men called for the firemen with their ladders 
until it occurred to someone to break open a window 
and jump inside. 

An instant later the flag-post with the corpse of 
NeSnéra was drawn back into the dormer. They 
untied his body and began at once to try to resuscitate 
him, but it was useless. 


NeSnéra was with his God! 


vI 


A year had passed since the death of NeSnéra, but 
in the school no teaching had begun, although the 
teacher was there and all the equipment needed for 


274 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


instruction. The horrible death of NeSnéra had so 
reacted on the minds of all that not a single inhabitant 
of the village arrived to register in the new school. 

Schlosser tried to compel his employees, but they all 
threatened that they would rather hang themselves. 
And from that time he had a horror of hanged persons. 
Often in his dreams he saw the apparition of the old 
man whom he had driven to death. Schlosser’s wife 
paid for that deed in the loss of her health. She nearly 
lost her life also, but as it was, the life of her child 
which came into the world prematurely was the price 
paid. 

And it was this woman, broken until the end of her 
days, who had been accustomed to look upon the 
laboring class contemptuously and without sympathy, 
who now implored her husband with clasped hands 
not to force his workmen into the German school. 

Finally, even Schlosser himself began to believe, 
although he would never acknowledge it, that fate had 
avenged itself on him. 

But things went harder with Joseph, whom no one 
addressed otherwise than as “Schuldiener.” He 
seemed to have lost wife, children and love of life. 
He gave himself up to drinking and whenever he was 
much intoxicated he cursed and reviled himself, the 
German “master,” the church and even the school. 
Often he threatened that he would settle his score 
with Schlosser. 


But Schlosser one day just before he departed with 


, 
i 
; 
4 
a 
4 





FOR THE LAND OF HIS FATHERS 275 


his wife for some place in Italy, called the mayor of the 
village and announced to him that he wished to present 
the school building to the community on condition 
that the adjoining lands and the former habitation of 
NeSnéra, together with the sheds and outbuildings, 
should remain the possession of the grandchildren of 
the hanged suicide. 

When young Ne&néra heard of it, he burst into bitter 
sobbing, and throwing himself down upon the earth 
kissed and caressed it. They could not even tear him 
from it. 

“My beloved land! Blood and sweat of my fathers! 
Preserved for us! And the NeSnéras shall not die out 
here! But a certain one of them this land must no 
longer bear on its bosom!” 

When he arose from the ground, a strange light 
gleamed in his deepset, bloodshot eyes. 

The next day they found NeSnéra dead on the grave 
of his father. He had shot himself in order that he 
should no more desecrate by a single step that soil of 
which he had proved himself unworthy. 


Vil 


The school on the NeSnéra homestead stands to this 
day. And it prospers for it is teaching children to love 
their native country, their nation and the land of their 
fathers. The factory, too, is still there and in opera- 
tion, but Schlosser’s son never influences his employees 
by a single word to deny their nationality. 


276 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Beyond the school, NeSnéra’s wife, with the money 
left her after the death of her husband, built a new 
cottage for her children. The older one of the boys 
when he had grown up and attended the required 
schools, became teacher in “‘NeSnéra’s school.’ The 
younger one devoted himself to farming the home 
fields and thus both remained on the native soil of their 
fathers. 

To-day the older of the two is in charge of the schools, 
for the community has grown and prospered and there 
was need of more teachers for the increased number of 
children. The younger brother became mayor of the 
town. Both are the most zealous advocates of love 
for that land which our fathers by the sweat of their 
brows have earned and by their blood have hallowed 
for us as our heritage. And, in truth, I think that in 
that community it would be impossible for an enemy 
outsider to buy enough land to hold so much as a post 
on which the one selling it might follow the example 
of old NeSnéra. 


CAROLINE SVETLA 


(Born 1830 in Prague. Died 1899, Prague.) 


Tuis gifted authoress, whose maiden name was Johanna 
Rottova, called by Dr. J. Batkovsky the greatest of 
the more recent novelists devoting themselves almost 
exclusively to typical Bohemian backgrounds, was the 
child of a Czech father and a Czech-German mother. 
She had early to go through a painful nationalistic 
struggle, being born in sadly backward surroundings, 
but her marriage at the age of twenty-two to Prof. 
Peter Muzak strengthened her deep patriotic self- 
consciousness. In the home of her husband in the 
mountains of JeStéd, she first met with the striking 
and rugged mountaineer types so well described in her 
collections of stories entitled “Sketches from Je3téd.” 
She chose her pen name from the name of the mountain 
village which she so often visited—“Svétla” below 
Jestéd. 

Her first novel “Two Awakenings”’ was published in 
1858. Since then she has been almost feverishly 
active in her literary effort, bringing out her intense 
convictions on female education and advancement, 
national consciousness, and other subjects in a series of 


many novels and short stories. Chief among her works 
277 


278 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


are “Prvni CeSka” (The First Czech Woman), and 
“Na Usvité’” (At Dawn) both of which depict the 
period of the Czech renaissance; “Nékolik Archi z 
Rodinné Kroniky”’ (Some Pages from Family Chron- 
icles), “Lamat a Jeho Dité” (The Quarryman and 
His Child), “ Vesnicky Roman” (A Village Romance) 
and “K¥izZ u Potoka” (The Cross Beside the Brook), 
—these latter two dramatized by EliSka PeSkové and 
“Wubiéka” (The Kiss) dramatized by E. Krasnohorska. 
“Posledni Pani Hlohovska”’ (The Last Lady of Hlohovy) 
a novel of the Thirty Years War and of the court 
of Joseph II, has been translated into English under 
the title of “Maria Felicia.” 

SvétlA is always sincere and direct and seldom varies 
in her style. She has a story to tell that is worth 
reading and in no case does she tax the limits of plausi- 
bility to induce interest. Her stories are of her own 
people, in whose happiness she rejoiced, in whose 
sufferings she sorrowed. 


BARBARA 
BY CAROLINE SVETLA 


Ir caused much mirth among the people that Matysek 
and Barka' wished to get married! She almost reached 
to the ceiling, whereas when he sat down to the table, 
his head was barely visible above it. She laughed 
from morn till eve, whereas he was always pouting. 
She would have charged ten Prussians single-handed, 
while he dropped his eyes and blushed a deep red when- 
ever anyone glanced at him without warning. Barka 
was always contented with things as they were—in 
whatever form they came, she accepted them. When 
things were at the worst, she would remark, “ Well, 
never mind!” and soon forgot her trouble. Matysek, 
on the contrary, remembered things for a long time 
and at even a trivial circumstance he would whine, 
“Too much is too much!” 

Whenever people saw them together, they always 
marvelled how these two came to care for each other. 

It began when they were both still watching flocks. 
They used to drive their herds to the same pasture. 
As soon as Matysek’s two goats were feeding, he paid 


‘In the title of the story here given Svétl4 has used the name 
“Barbara” from which “‘Barka” as used in the story is a derivative 
or abbreviation. 

279 


280 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


attention to nothing else, but sat down somewhere 
under a bush, found a stick, drew out his pocket knife 
and began to whittle out something. 

But the other boys would not permit this. They 
wanted everyone who used the same pasture with them 
to play the same sort of pranks they did. If Matysek 
did not wish to obey them—and he often didn’t—they 
would snatch his knife, throw it away and break what- 
ever he had just carved out. The more he pouted and 
growled about it, the more they made wry faces at 
him, as is customary in such mischievous groups. 

But as soon as Barka from a distance noted that the 
boys were teasing Matysek, she ran directly to a tree, 
broke off a goodly branch, and rushed after the boys. 
She barely glanced around when she was among them 
and where the bough struck was all one to her— 
why had they not left Matysek in peace? 

“This is for remembrance! And if it seems too little 
to some of you, just come, I'll give you plenty more till 
you’ve had enough,” she would shout after them when, 
with much squalling, they dispersed in all directions. 
Then she seated the whimpering Matysek back under 
his bush, found his knife for him and sought out the 
pieces of wood. After such a distribution of punish- 
ment, Matysek had a fine time at the pasture for a 
week at least. 

To be sure, the boys did not let it pass without 
comment that Barka always protected Matysek. 

“There, there,’ they shouted at her when she was 


BARBARA 281 


quieting his wailing. ‘‘ Put him away nicely into a box 
so that the birds may not swallow him in place of a fly. 
If a grasshopper tramples him to death, it will be all 
up with your wedding and we'd lose out on our gifts.” 

But the instant they saw Barka raising the switch they 
were off with the wind and ran until their heads shook. 
They had ample proof that Barka had the strength of 
fifteen of them and they knew they could not over- 
come her even if all of them at once pitched into her. 


Matysek was in the service of a childless old widow 
who was no longer able to get about on her feet and 
whose sight was very dim. She was satisfied with the 
amount of work he did and the way he did it, and never 
cheated him out of food. She was glad she had a 
helper who did not cheat her. Nevertheless, Matysek 
often complained that no one had it as hard as did he, 
and that too much was too much. 

Barka served on the estate of the worst pinch-penny 
in the entire neighborhood. Her fingers were like 
jagged pegs from sheer hard work, all the veins in her 
neck were swollen and her face was so burned from the 
sun and wind that her skin was always peeling. She 
served him each year in return for ten yards of linen 
cloth for a waist and a loose jacket and for one pair 
of winter shoes. Instead of wages he let her have 
small tips whenever he sold a head of cattle from his 
stables or when she carried the corn to the mill, and 
yet she found cause for praises. 


282 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Not a day passes but what the peasant gives me 
food,” she said delightedly to Matysek. “And I have 
shoes to wear to church. Since I’ve been on his estate 
I have provided myself with two heavy wool head 
shawls, one skirt and one coat. I don’t have to wear 
my linen jacket on Sundays if I don’t wish to.” 

And Barka was in the tenth year of her service at the 
miserly peasant’s. 

Sometimes people laughed about the attachment of 
the two and then again they asserted, also laughingly, 
to be sure, that the two just suited each other as if the 
pigeons had borne them. By which they meant that 
one was about as weak mentally as the other. 

If anyone let drop a whisper of such an insinuation 
before Barka, she let it stand as far as it applied to her- 
self, replying only with her customary, “Never mind!” 
But God forbid that anyone should so express himself 
about Matysek. She was up in arms immediately. 

“You just let Matysek alone,’”’ she shouted till she 
was fairly purple. “He has sense enough for himself 
and he doesn’t have to have it for others.” 

Matysek never so violently opposed anyone who had 
anything against Barka or himself, but it never was 
erased from his memory. If he had to pass near 
such a person, he dropped his eyes and would not 
have raised them if he had known that he’d be shot 
for it. Yes, Matysek had his own head and knew how 
to set it and also how to punish people whom he had 
cause to dislike. 


BARBARA 283 


At the dances none of the girls wished to be Maty¥sek’s 
partner, claiming he wasn’t grown up enough and was 
unhandsome and scowly. Besides, he had nothing to 
dress up in except the jacket left him by his deceased 
father, and they said his vest showed for a good hand’s 
length beneath the jacket, which was decorated with 
buttons as big as one’s fist. They had other faults to 
find with him also, but this did not worry him, for he 
always managed to dance to his heart’s content without 
them. Barka always sought out Matysek at the dances 
herself. She held him by the hands as a mother does 
her one-year-old when she is teaching him to stand up 
like a little man, and thus she danced with him as long 
as his breath lasted. She herself never ran out of breath, 
even if she had remained on the. dancing floor all night. 

But it was no real pleasure or gratification to dance 
with Matysek, for he did not know one note from 
another and never seemed to get into step. He hopped 
about as best he could, hanging his head and inclining 
his whole body forward. If his partner had not held 
him firmly, who knows how many times he would have 
had to kiss the floor in an evening. But Barka made 
up for it by bobbing up all the higher and the more 
merrily beside him, looking about over the whole 
room meanwhile to see if everyone was taking proper 
notice of how well Matysek could guide. During 
the entire dance she smiled happily, showing her 
white teeth. The people fairly held their sides when 
watching these two dance. 


284 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Why do you persist in dancing with such a clumsy 
fellow? You trip so lightly and we’d like to take you 
for a few turns ourselves,” the boys shouted to Barka, 
but only in mockery and never in earnest, just to see 
what she would say. They would not have taken her 
to dance for a great deal unless they intended to insult 
and anger their own sweethearts. 

But Barka always cut them off sharply. 

“Just you take whomever you please for a turn. 
Tl keep Matysek and I’ll not let you abuse him either. 
He knows how to weave an Easter whip of forty strands, 
he can make a broom, and a battledore for a shuttlecock 
as well. Everybody doesn’t have to go ramming his 
head into idlers for beauty or to crush rocks with their 
hands.” 

And again she was with Matysek in the whirl and 
whoever failed to turn briskly enough, him would she 
take by the elbow and shove out so effectually that he 
wondered what world he was in and how he got there. 
Matysek was much pleased with Barka’s agility and he 
continued in low whispers to indicate others for her to 
jostle out of the circle, chuckling meanwhile till he 
nearly choked. He used to say to Barka afterwards 
when he escorted her home that he wouldn’t want 
another girl, not even for all of Jerusalem, and that he’d 
stay faithful to her even if brides from Prague itself 
would send him word to come to marry them. 

If Matysek’s mistress gave him cheese on his bread 
at the Sunday meal, he ate the bread and saved the 


BARBARA 285 


cheese for Barka. If on Sunday Barka received a 
muffin at the peasant’s, she at once put it aside for 
Matysek. As soon as Matysek had washed his 
wooden spoon after dinner, he threw off his linen 
blouse and put on the red vest he had inherited from 
his father, and over it he drew the blue jacket which 
was so displeasing to the girls. 

Barely had Barka finished milking after dinner when 
she slipped on her starched skirt, placed one of her wool 
kerchiefs on her head, another around her neck and 
went to meet Matysek. 

She knew to a hair when he would come, although 
they never made a definite arrangement. He, in turn, 
not only knew well that she would come, but just in 
what spot among the trees he would first see her. 

“You wouldn’t go to meet any other man, would 
you?” he used to ask after they met. 

“Not for seven golden castles,” Barka assured him. 

It was really remarkable how devoted they were. 
Never had a youth or maid cared for each other as did 
those two who seemed to have but one soul in common. 

When it was cold or rainy, they sat down beside 
each other in the stable. When it was bright and 
sunny, they seated themselves somewhere on _ the 
boundary stones. He reached into his pocket and 
drew out the cheese neatly wrapped in a large walnut 
leaf, while she unfolded her fresh white handkerchief 
and gave him the mutfin. They ate and sunned them- 
selves, but if it happened to be warm, they took a little 


286 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


nap or at other times they got into such an earnest 
conversation that they did not know how to end it. 
Maty¥sek knew how to lead one into strange discussions 
and often Barka shivered in wonderment at him. 

For instance, if, from their position on the boundary 
line, he saw a carriage approaching on the highway, 
he would begin conjecturing who rode in it, whether the 
steward from the court, the brewer from the city or, 
perhaps, the Prince himself. 

“There ought to be a law against certain people 
always riding while others must continually go on foot 
and also against some persons having great wealth 
while others have nothing,’’ Matysek reasoned between 
conjectures. 

“The court will hardly make a law against such 
things,” was Barka’s opinion. 

“T’m quite sure the rich men won’t permit such a 
law,” grinned Matysek. And to think that people said 
he was weak mentally! 

“Perhaps if God wished it, it would come to pass,” 
judged Barka. “But most likely it isn’t the law 
because it wouldn’t agree with everyone’s health.” 

Matysek remained firm, however, that a law should 
be enacted making it possible for all people to ride in 
carriages and from that stand he refused to budge. 
But Barka nevertheless tripped him up on the matter. 

“And who, good friend, would then look after the 
horses? Who would water and feed them?” 

Matysek could not quickly answer and remained 


BARBARA 287 


for a long time looking at Barka with wide eyes and 
open mouth. He evaded giving a direct reply by 
expressing the wish that he might some day have so 
much money that at every step it would jingle in his 
pocket. 

“Tt will all come to you,” Barka encouraged him. 

“Oh, no, it won’t,” complained Matysek, but at the 
same time he wanted Barka to assure him again. 

““Yes, indeed, it will come,” she reiterated. “Isn’t 
it already beginning for you? It is commencing for 
me, too. We have quite a bit of money out among 
people, and if we are alive and well, we can get the 
good of it.” 

““Where did you say we had money?” 

“Why, at our masters’. If we have health and 
serve them for twenty years yet, no mere hundred will 
cover what they owe us. Just count it up!” 

“Wait,” pouted Matysek. “You’re making sport of 
me.” But he couldn’t frown very long and had to 
smile a little at least at the way in which Barka had 
turned the matter. It seemed as if she were poking 
fun at him and yet what she said was true. And, 
indeed, taken all around, Barka was right. Seeing 
that he was prepared to smile, Barka began to laugh 
also and Matysek joined in heartily, while they figured 
how much money they had out among people and how 
rich they were. 

But in the midst of her laughter, Barka’s eyes filled 
with tears. 


288 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“One thing, at least, was fulfilled for my dear 
mother,” she sobbed, trying to smile at the same time. 
“She always used to tell me, ‘I can bequeath nothing 
to you, but may God grant that you may inherit one 
trait from me. I don’t know how to be angry and I 
can always find the bright side of everything I meet— 
let it be what it will.’” 

Matysek’s eyes were wet also. When he could not 
see her laugh without smiling himself, it is not to be 
wondered at that he could not see her cry without 
weeping with her! I have already said that in those 
two beings there was but one soul. 

“There’s nothing on this earth I wish for,” sobbed 
Barka, “but one thing and that is, that I might some 
day go to Vambefice. It is there my mother offered 
me to the Holy Virgin and there she prayed that I 
might inherit her good nature.” 

“Some day you'll get your wish,’’ Matysek now in 
turn comforted Barka. “‘And perhaps much more, 
besides,”’ he added, and he was glad he thought of it as 
a means of bringing her out of her tears. 

“Do you think I'll some day be able to have a green 
jacket with a sulphur-yellow border?” sighed Barka, 
wiping her eyes with her work-calloused hands. “I 
must say I’d dearly love to have something pretty in 
which to go to Communion.” 

“And wouldn’t you like to have a goat of your own, 
and a little cottage, too?’ Matysek inquired of her 
searchingly. 


BARBARA 289 


“Why wouldn’t I want a goat and a home of my own? 
Of course, I’d want it. But, believe me, if I could 
really have a house, I’d not give in an inch unless I'd 
have hanging beside the stove a spoon rack, painted a 
blood red and made for eight sizes, with four pewter 
spoons in each.” 

“And if I had my own room,” Matysek cried, seeming 
to have grown a head taller, “I, too, would know what 
I want. At once I’d quit all peasant toil and would 
begin weaving brooms. That’s something worth 
while. A man can sit in the warmth and where it’s 
clean and can keep busy at his own work. Everyone 
inquires after him and knows of him. Nobody can 
get along without a broom-maker.” 

“That’s true,” Barka nodded assent. “To be a 
broom-maker is a very fine thing. I, too, like that 
trade.” 

“TI wouldn’t spend all my time making brooms,” 
boasted Matysek and again he seemed to have grown 
much taller. ‘“I’d also make wooden lanterns and 
would fit in the glass sides myself, and if anyone 
wanted a cage for quails, I’d make it for him and 
attach a little bell at the top. I'd go in for making 
a dog-kennel as well. I’d paint it green and to make 
it please everybody, I’d fix on it a blue star and 
a little yellow moon. Don’t you think I couldn’t 
do it. I could!” 

If some one from the village passed by and saw them 
sitting beside each other debating so fervently, he did 


290 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


not fail to pause and ask them, “When, good people, 
do you intend to get married?” 

“Oh, some day,” Barka dispatched the inquisitive 
one. 

“Tt’s high time. You were courting when I was 
wooing my wife and now I have a son almost ready for 
marrying—”’ 

“Well, everything doesn’t have to be done in a rush. 
What awaits a man will come to him of itself.” 

“That’s all true, but a man must set some limit of 
time for doing everything.” 

“Well, then, it will be when our masters mention it 
to us.” 

“You'll have a long wait!” 

“Never mind! We're not in any hurry just now.” 

Matysek never answered such questions, but always 
remembered everyone who approached them in this 
matter. A hundred times such an inquirer might pass 
or call to him, but each time he would drop his eyes and 
not lift them until the mocker was past. 

How did Barka guess that whatever awaits a man 
will come to him of itself? Everything that they had 
ever wished for and which they had discussed on Sun- 
day afternoons was fulfilled for them with the excep- 


tion of one little point. Would anyone have said that: 


such things are possible? Never! 

Barka’s cousin who had never claimed relationship 
to her died. She had been a strange woman. She 
had but one daughter with whom she lived in great 


BARBARA 291 


ill-will because the young woman had married someone 
whom the mother disliked. She let her daughter 
move away with her husband far beyond the borders, 
but never made inquiries about her and when a letter 
came from her she refused it. The mother and 
daughter had not known of each other for many years. 

When, after the death of the mother, the court wrote 
to the daughter to come and claim her inheritance, it 
developed that she was long since dead and her husband 
also. No children remained and as there were no other 
relatives, everything fell to Barka. Of a sudden, she 
owned a house, an orchard, a little field and meadow, 
two goats in the stall, all sorts of cabinet and carpenter 
material, and in the chamber two chests full of clothing. 
In one were suits which had belonged to her deceased 
cousin’s husband. He had been a carpenter and 
dressed very well. Among these possessions remained 
a fur coat and a blue top coat as handsome as if the 
tailor had brought it that very day. As soon as Barka 
opened the second chest the first thing she saw was a 
green jacket with a border as yellow as sulphur. 

Beneath the jacket lay so many skirts that Barka 
could have put on a different one every day in the 
week, though she would not have done this for the 
whole world. She had too great a fear of God. 

When Barka first heard of her inheritance she was 
so stunned that they had to pinch her arms to make her 
come to her senses, and it was no wonder, for it really 
was unbelievable. She continued to stand motionless, 


292 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


unable to comprehend that what had been her cousin’s 
was now to be hers and that never again did she need 
to be a servant—nor Matysek either. 

“Do get some wisdom in you,” the master of the 
place urged. “If you'll be as stupid as this, people 
will soon deprive you of what the Lord has lavished 
on you. I already see in my mind’s eye how you will 
let yourself get cheated until you will again have 
nothing. I must myself intervene so that you’d not 
complain some day that I had no more sense than you. 
It will be best if you get married and that very soon. 
I can readily tell you of a bridegroom who will very 
carefully attend to all the matters concerning your 
property and you yourself will not have to pay any 
attention to them.” And the peasant named his own 
brother who about a year before had lost his wife. 
People said that he beat his wife to death. He was 
known as a bully far and wide. If a person just 
barely looked at him, having no evil intention what- 
ever, he called him in the ring for a fight. People 
went a hundred feet out of the way to avoid him. His 
children all took after him and were as evil as their 
father. The peasant was afraid that his brother 
might some day kill someone and, should he be sen- 
tenced to prison, the degenerate children would come 
into his home. He would much rather wish them 
upon Barka. 

They had to resuscitate Barka again, for his speech 
frightened her so. 


BARBARA | 293 


“How can you talk to me of your brother, when you 
know that I have Matysek!” she rebuked him, trembling 
all over. 

“Surely you don’t intend, now that you have 
property, to tie yourself to that hungry, half-dead 
mortal who has nothing and never will have, to the 
day of his death? He was good enough while no one 
else wanted you.” 

You should have seen how Barka flared up! She 
flushed with anger and every nerve in her body was 
strained. 

“The man I wasn’t good enough for before this,” 
burst violently from her lips, “isn’t good enough for me 
now. Matysek has wanted me for years and never 
cared for another. Even if a bride from Prague had 
sent for him, he wouldn’t have married her for all of 
Jerusalem, and you think I’d consider another man 
now? No, not for seven golden castles, not even if my 
own patron saint made the match. Indeed, not 
even for the sake of the Virgin Mary would I forsake 
him.—That is my vow!” 

And Barka became almost ill at the idea of being 
torn away from Matysek. When she got breath 
enough, she set up such a wailing about Matysek that 
it could be heard to the village square. She was not 
to be quieted, and the peasant, though he kept on trying 
to persuade her in order to provide for his hectoring 
brother and wicked children, could do nothing with her. 
He left her in great wrath, seeing at last that she would 


294 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


not yield, but he did not speak a single word to her any 
more while she was there. 

Matysek, however, was not in the least astonished 
at the turn affairs had taken. Why, had not Barka 
long promised these things? They had been awaiting 
it, talking of it, finally it was actually here, so what was 
there strange or unusual about it? Indeed, he won- 
dered why it hadn’t come to them long ago. It never 
once occurred to him that perhaps now he might not be 
desirable to Barka. People here and there hinted 
it to him in envy, but he laughed in their faces. He— 
not to be desirable to Barka! For her there was no 
one else on earth so well suited. 

Barka stood staring at him when he announced that 
he was going to the parsonage to order their banns. She 
could not comprehend where he had suddenly accumu- 
lated so much boldness. As soon as she told him to go 
if he thought best, he adjusted himself deliberately and 
then strode through the village to the priest so ener- 
getically that the latter thought it was some fine 
gentleman coming to him. From the time he heard his 
banns proclaimed in the church, Matysek never got 
out of people’s way, but, on the contrary, others stepped 
aside for him. God alone can judge where by a hand’s 
turn he acquired the ability to act the part of a great 
man. Those who had not seen him for a long time 
and now met him did not know in what manner to 
address him. In a word, he was totally changed from 
his former self. 


BARBARA 295 


Barka inherited with the property a female tenant 
with four children. She was happy over this and at 
once embraced the little ones in her love, remembering 
her own widowed mother and the days of her orphaned 
childhood. But Matysek was different. 

He examined the widow and her children with an 
eye so severe that the tenant involuntarily hid behind 
Barka and the children began to shake with fear. 
Then he inquired if they understood properly who and 
what he was. When the poor things did not know 
what to answer, he told them that he was master in 
the home and that everyone must obey him, and when 
he ordered something done in the house or on the field 
or in the stable, it must be carried out to the hair. In 
order to confirm this by example, he sent out each child 
successively about five times for something or other 
which he had no use for and which the child then had to 
earry back. 

The children hardly dared to breathe. | 

“You'd like it, wouldn’t you?” continued Matysek. 
“All day to be in idleness, to fear no one or nothing? 
But Pll spoil all that for you. I'll give you exercises 
and training until I teach you order.” 

Barka was not at all opposed, for why shouldn’t he 
speak up to the children if it pleased him? And 
besides, even if he shouted, it didn’t injure them, and 
then, how grandly it suited him to act lordly! 

The first day after the wedding she gave him an 
ample supply of coins to jingle in his pocket. He 


296 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


would not permit the children to even come near that 
day, and on Sunday, when he put on his top coat, 
they did not dare even look at it for fear they’d soil it. 

Matysek now whirled about proudly in a clean, warm 
room into which he’d call the children ten times a day 
to hear them repeat who was master in the house and 
from which he would ten times expel them for the most 
varied crimes such as disrespectful coughing or sneezing 
in his presence, but mainly for silence when he ques- 
tioned them regarding his own importance and sig- 
nificance. Some days the children did little else than 
open the door to each other in a succession of such 
“exercises.” 

Barka did not cease to marvel at the fortune which 
was theirs, especially when her eyes fell on the wall 
beside the stove, where hung a spoon rack, painted red, 
made for eight sizes and four pewter spoons on each, 
the kind she had always longed for. Sometimes she 
gazed at them for an hour at a time. She and Matysek 
now ate only with pewter spoons and from porcelain 
dishes. They did not have a single wooden spoon nor 
wooden bowl in the whole house. Neither was there 
anything else of mean and lowly associations to be 
found in their dwelling from attic to cellar. It was 
not to be wondered at that Matysek would not permit 
it and that Barka gave her consent. 

Matysek carried out his oft-repeated intentions, and 
renouncing all peasant labor, began weaving brooms. 
He would not let Barka go to pasture the cattle nor 


BARBARA 297 


for wood to the grove. The tenant had to see to all 
this and Barka dared do nothing else but prepare 
meals and sit beside him and spin. He wanted her to 
have him before her constantly and to admire him. 

Barka often wondered not only that he wished this 
but that he was so truly in earnest about it. He made 
not only brooms, but lanterns, cages and anything his 
fancy suggested. Many people now knew of Matysek 
and sought him out. It was just as he had predicted— 
he had become a notable. Often he related to the 
children that all this was just what he had anticipated 
when Barka used to take his part while they were both 
pasturing flocks. At the same time, he admonished 
them to be mindful of his every word and deed so that 
they too might some day follow in his footsteps, but 
he had great fears that such a result would not really 
be attained, for, not in a single trait did the children 
resemble him. 

When the children had to hop about Matysek prac- 
tically all day, and, as the whim struck him, had to 
rush away or come speeding back, to speak or remain 
silen', to place things within his reach or to remain 
motionless at a safe distance, Barka would often 
secretly supply them with dainties which their mother 
could not have provided. She did this in order that 
they should the more willingly do his bidding. But 
Matysek was not supposed to know of any such pro- 
ceeding and Barka had to exercise the greatest caution. 
Whenever Matysek learned of such a gift, he pouted 


298 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


and whimpered: “Couldn’t you have given it to me? 
It would have done me more good than them.” 

The doghouse with the star and the moon orna- 
ments which Matysek had joyously planned on for so 
long, he made for himself. 

“Why shouldn’t we ourselves have something 
unusual?” he said to Barka. And he bought a dog to 
put in the kennel. Although it was a white dog, he 
called it “Gypsy.” His former mistress had a dog 
named “Gypsy” and he could not break himself of the 
habit of calling every dog by that name. 

When the weather was windy or stormy, Matysek 
would lose himself in thought for two hours at a time. 

“What have you in your head again?” Barka would 
ask, smiling proudly meanwhile. She knew he was 
planning something that no one else would have thought 
of. And she was right. 

“T was debating whether a person could make some 
sort of cage or trap to catch the wind and hold it. 
That would be an advantage to us in our mountains 
here, wouldn’t it, our Barka?’’ 

From the time they had married, they never ad- 
dressed each other otherwise than “‘our Barka” and 
“our Matysek.” 

Barka assented that it would indeed be a great con- 
venience for people to entrap the wind so that it would 
do no harm. 

“Well, who knows? You may work it out success- 
fully,” she often said. ‘When people have been able 


BARBARA 299 


to catch and chain the lightning and thunder and it 
submits, why shouldn’t you be able to devise a cage to 
catch the wind?” 

_ Sometimes Matysek would suddenly cast aside the 
broom he was making and would stretch himself out 
on the bench behind the table. 

“Tf. don’t have to work if I don’t want to, do I, our 
Barka? No one has a right to give orders to me nor 
to you either. Leave your spinning and come, sit 
beside me at the table. Let’s have a game of cards, 
a little smoke and a bit of something to drink.” 

“Well, why not?” Barka agreed with him, and leav- 
ing her spinning wheel, she went to the cupboard for 
pipes, cards and glasses. The pipes were lighted, 
Barka poured some bitter brandy into the glasses, shuf- 
fled the cards and they played, smoked and sipped to 
their hearts’ content. As a matter of fact, Matysek 
at first did not even know how to play cards or smoke, 
and it was all he could do to swallow the bitter brandy, 
for he was accustomed only to whey. But Barka kept 
telling him that he would always miss something if he 
did not learn to take a drink now and then, to play 
ecards and smoke. Finally he consented to try it. 
But she had to agree to try it all with him, for without 
her he would none of it, and when she wished to have 
him continue at it as was fitting for a fully qualified 
master of an estate who expects the esteem of people, 
he would not have it otherwise than that she, too, 
should continue beside him smoking and sipping. 


300 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Hardly had Barka fully arranged her new household, 
when she thought of Vambefice. She was of the 
opinion that her planet poured fortune on her only 
because her mother had offered her in sacrifice at 
Vambefice. 

Matysek could hardly wait till she returned from 
the pilgrimage. Even the first day he ran to the win- 
dow every little while to see if she were already coming 
back. In order to have the time go more rapidly, he 
kept pushing the clock ahead and made marks on the 
door to indicate how many days she had been gone and 
how soon she was certain to return. 

“Too much is too much,” he grumbled, impatiently, 
returning alone to his room. During all that time, he 
never touched the cards, pipe or glasses, and even re- 
fused to look at his brooms. The tenant could not 
suit him by a single glance or act. Barka had arranged 
for her to cook for Matysek in her absence, but he found 
fault with everything that she prepared and brought 
to the table. | 

The children, however, fared the worst of all. They 
barely crossed his path when he started after them with 
a switch and drove them out. If they were not around 
him, he went looking for them with a rod, inquiring 
why they were not at hand to do his bidding. 5o it 
went constantly just as in a comedy. The sun was 
still high, when he would cry out to the tenant, “Have 
those children say their prayers and put them to bed so’ 
there would be some peace!’ She had hardly heard 


BARBARA 301 


them repeat their prayers and put them on their beds 
of hay when he burst out on her with a tirade for bring- 
ing up her children as lazy lollers who will never know 
anything but how to sleep and surely would come to 
some evilend. He roused such fears in the woman with 
his predictions of a terrible death for her children that 
she herself seized the whip and drove the children from 
the hay. Half asleep they were forced to seat them- 
selves beside her around the old tilted-up cask, used to 
hold cabbage, and she compelled them to strip chicken 
feathers for down for the winter. They stripped 
for hours till both children and mother, together 
with the tub, toppled over on the floor, where they 
slept exhausted from very fear, continual running 
and uneasiness until the next morning, when the 
treadmill began anew. | 

Barka had her hands full to again bring about order 
when she returned. They had all lost flesh, in fact, 
were fairly ill and from all sides came only complaints 
and accusations in which she had the hard task of 
acting as judge. She made an end to all at once by 
vowing with uplifted hand that she would never again 
go away on a pilgrimage. At that time the poor 
thing did not know that she had near at hand another 
pilgrimage from which there is no returning. 

Without any previous warning, Barka’s hand began 
to swell. 

“Tt must be because I am no longer doing ary real 
work,” she said to Matysek. “All the strength stays 


302 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


in my hand and that’s why it is swelling. It isn’t 
healthy for anyone to be lazy. I said that to you 
more than once when we were both single and you used 
to wish that all the people could just ride around in 
carriages and do nothing.” 

The tenant did not like the looks of the hand. It 
seemed to her that it was somehow caused from the 
bone. 

“Just as soon as the snow melts, I’m going beyond 
the mountains to get you a doctor. He is very much 
renowned and doesn’t ask too much money either.” 

“Let him ask what he will, I'll count it out for him 
here on the table,” boasted Matysek, jingling the 
coins in his pocket. He was grieved that Barka 
seemed to grow weaker from the afflicted hand and had 
to lie down every little while. When he did not have 
her beside him, he was lonely. They had to move her 
bed right under the very window so that she could see 
him clearly and he could look at her. 

The tenant did not wait for the snow to melt, but at 
the first gleam of a warmer sun, when a little break 
could be seen through the windows in the orchard, 
she started out, over the mountains, not minding the 
snowdrifts and safely reached the doctor whom she 
brought back with her to Barka. 

The doctor examined the swollen hand, drew out 
from his case some sort of oil and ordered that she 
should diligently rub it on the hand. If the oil did 
not help, she was to notify him and he would send some 


BARBARA 303 


kind of liquid which would surely bring relief. But he 
did not fool Barka. 

She read in his eyes after he had examined her hand 
and looked significantly at the tenant that no oil or 
salve would help her. She knew that she would never 
again rise to her feet a healthy woman. The tenant 
was right—the bone in her hand was decaying. 

The tenant escorted the doctor outside. Matysek 
went along chiefly to listen whether the coins he had 
given the doctor and to which Barka had to add a 
goodly sum, jingled in his pocket as when he himself 
had owned them. Barka remained in the room alone. 

For a while she sat on the bed not knowing what 
had become of her thoughts, for her head seemed of a 
sudden, completely empty. She could not even con- 
ceive how Matysek could possibly live without her. 
Who would tell him on Sundays what he should wear, 
whether the fur cloak or the top coat? Who would go 
beside him wearing the green jacket, to church? 
With whom would he talk, sip, smoke and who in his 
old age, would stay with him, wait on him, humor him? 

She glanced out of the window into the little orchard 
where Matysek, leaving to the tenant the further es- 
corting of the doctor, had paused to give another little 
drill to the children who to-day for the first time had 
ventured outside. 

It was a beautiful evening. On the summits of the 
snow-covered mountains glowed crowns of roses. The 
sky resembled a golden sea gradually paling until the 


304 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


first little stars sparkled forth. They smiled at the” 
mountains, rejoicing with them that soon they would 
be green and glad when the fir groves and the blue 
violets would pour forth their fragrance, when they 
would hear the nightingale sing beside the stream, 
when from every rock a flower would spring and in 
every furrow the lark would call. Even the stars are 
sad when they see nothing but snow, frost and ice. 

Barka’s eyes grew misty and great tears dropped on 
her clasped hands. For her, spring had come for the 
last time. But instantly her thoughts returned to 
Matysek. 

“He need not stay here alone. Now that he has a 
house, any good and capable woman would marry him. 
It would be best, perhaps, if I myself would select 
someone for him. It’s a pity, he does not like our 
tenant. She would never do him any injury.” 

Just then a young woman, a neighbor, came running 
into the orchard. She was returning a hatchet which 
she had borrowed of Matysek and began joking with 
him. 

“When are you going to get a divorce from your 
’ wife so you can marry me?” she laughed. It was the 
way all the girls talked with him when they met him 
alone. 

Matysek imagined that each one was in earnest 
about if. “You’d like to marry me, wouldn’t you?” 
He preened himself, seeming to become a head taller. 
“T believe it. Others would, too. I have to defend 


, 


BARBARA 305 


myself against them. But just bear in mind, once 
for all, that I wouldn’t take anyone else than Barka 
for all of Jerusalem. I wouldn’t have left her even if 
brides owning seven castles had sent word to me from 
Prague itself.” 

“And what if you’d become a widower?” 

“Get out of here!’’ Matysek, red with anger, shouted 
at the pert young thing, stamping his foot and brandish- 
ing the hatchet at her. The girl laughed all the more, 
but had to run away to escape his wrath. 

Barka, lying in tears on the bed, felt as if all the 
nightingales which were preparing to welcome spring 
in the mountains had begun to sing in her bosom, all 
the violets which wished to pour out their fragrance in 
the groves bloomed in her heart. As Matysek loved 
her no other man had ever loved a woman. As happy 
as they two were, no other husband and wife had ever 
been, even though one were to seek the whole world 
over. 

She bowed her head meekly and owned that here on 
this earth she had lived long enough in enjoyment, 
abundance and happiness and that it was just that her 
portion should now pass cver to another. 

“Tt would be useless to think of marriage for him. 
He would have no other, no matter what happened. 
I must arrange it some other way so that all would go 
on without me,” she said, wiping hereyes. “If only he 
would not be here when they carry me out. I would 
have to turn over in my coffin, before they put me in 


306 - CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


the ground, to know how he would carry on. They 
say the dead see and hear everything that happens 
around them before the priest sprinkles their grave. 
What, dear God, would I see and hear? He will not 
want to give me up to death and will yet anger God 
Himself by his stubbornness.” 

From that time Barka meditated on nothing else 
than how to contrive to have Matysek let her go to her 
grave without too great an ado and too much sorrow 
and longing for her. 

“Tf I could only last till the time of berries, then I'd 
take myself off without his knowing,” she prayed again 
and again. So fervently and intensely did she pray 
for this that, though her hand was now nothing but a 
mass of wounds and her body only skin and bones, 
nevertheless she lived through the spring and summer. 
Everyone who came to see her parted with her for- 
ever, for, leaving, they knew they would never again 
see her alive. Only Matysek as yet noticed nothing. 
He had become accustomed to seeing her on the bed 
_all the time and whenever he became thoughtful over 
her condition, Barka quickly had some joke ready to 
lead him out of his mood. Well she knew how to turn 
everything to its cheery phase. It was a trait that 
stayed with her to her last moment. 

On the afternoon just before Holy Mother’s Day, 
before August fifteenth, Matysek was just finishing a 
cage for the parish priest, who had ordered it for a rare 
bird. Matysek was pleased with it and hopped about 


BARBARA 307 


it constantly. He was reminded again of his desire to 
contrive some sort of cage not only for birds, but for 
the wind also. 

This time Barka did not reply as usual that there 
could be no doubt of it that since people had been able 
to trap the thunder, he surely could carry out his plan 
for the wind. He observed her silence and stepped 
closer to her. 

“What is the matter, our Barka, that you talk so 
little nowadays?” he asked her, patting her bandaged 
hand and sadly gazing into her sorrowful eyes. 

To-day for the first time he noted that she was pale 
and troubled. She scarcely had any breath left in her. 
For the first time, perhaps, he had an inkling of what 
was in store for her. 

“Tt won’t last long, this way,” Barka consoled him 
and attempted her customary bright, agreeable smile, 
which, with effort, she achieved. ‘This will all change 
soon. It seems to me I’d get well very quickly if I 
could only eat some sour berries.”’ 

“You can have all you want of those now. In the 
grove it looks as if the ground had a red coverlet. I 
saw them when I went Bee this morning to cut saplings 
to make bars for the cage.” 

“Those in our grove wouldn’t refresh and senatien 
me. If berries are to help me, they must come from 
Bezdéz itself. There every morning the Virgin Mary 
herself sprinkles them with dew purposely for the 
sick.” 


308 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


““Someone from here can go up there tomorrow to 
get them for you.” 

“T too thought of that. I will ask the tenant to let 
the children go for them.” 

“Well, well, they’d be of little use there,” burst out 
Matysek. “They wouldn’t get much and would bring 
you only brush and bad fruit, ripe, unripe, red, green— 
allin a bunch. You'd hardly relish that sort of thing. 
And who knows whether the little imps would ever 
reach Bezdéz. They’d ramble where their fancy 
suited them and would boldly insist they had actually 
been there. They’d be of no use except to carry the 
load. Someone wise and dependable should go with 
them. Do you know what? I myself shall go with 
them. No one else can put them through their paces 
as well as I can.” 

Barka had him just where she wanted him. He was 
prepared for a three days’ journey, and in the meantime 
she could set out on hers—to eternity. Already her 
mild eye was looking into the depths of that eternity, 
but her lips still smiled. She had sojourned here long 
enough in happiness, enjoyment and plenty beside her 
husband who loved her as no man ever loved a woman. 

“You're the best man on earth, after all,’’ she whis- 
pered to him. “Since we belong to each other, I have 
never heard a hard word from you. You have never 
yet done me an injury and you have never once been 
angry with me. May God bless you for that a hundred 
thousand times.” 


os i 


= 
A ll 


j 


; 
fi 
yi 
j 
% 





BARBARA 309 


Matysek smiled contentedly, jingling the money in 
his pocket. “Neither is such a fine disposition as 
yours possessed by many women on earth. You know 
how to be cheerful about everything and you can fore- 
tell and promise things before they really happen. 
Only please stop being so thin and pale! And your 
lips are so blue and how they quiver!” 

And again Matysek patted the bandaged hand and 
gazed at her with an uncertain, solicitous gaze as before. 

I'll be better at once, and as soon as I eat a few of 
your berries I'll run about like a chick.” 

“T wish you could do it right now!” 

“T shall. I have it all arranged with the Virgin 
Mary. But when she calls me, I must visit her at Vam- 
befice. She asked it of me last night in a dream and I 
promised her I'd go.” 

“You shouldn’t have promised her that,”’ complained 
Matysek and hung his head. ‘“‘ You gave us your word 
with uplifted hand that you’d never again go on a 
pilgrimage.” 

“This time it will be altogether different,” Barka 
explained. ‘‘Our tenant will do everything to suit you 
much better, and the children, too, are better behaved. 
Everything will go on as if I were here.” 

“Oh, no it won’t, it won’t!” interposed Matysek and 
he held on to her feather bed like a child which fears 
its mother will slip away. 

“You'll see that it will,’ Barka smiled at him but 
within she felt as if she already stood on God’s pillar. 


310 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


“Just give your orders to the tenant the way you 
want things done here. She is not a bad woman and 
will gladly do all to please you and will manage the 
household well in my absence. She knows that the 
house and estate will be hers if she serves us both well 
unto the day of our death, for we have given her our 
written agreement. Don’t stay at home all the time. 
Go out to different places and visit the neighbors to 
learn what is happening among people and out in the 
world and you'll have something to laugh at. Go to 
church also and say a little prayer for me there. It is 
good for those who are on a journey if we pray for 
them at home. I, too, shall always remember you in a 
prayer. Indeed, I'll do nothing else there than pray 
for you!” 

“Oh, but if you’d only rather stay right here!”’ 

“Keep your things in good order so that they would 
last. Wear your fur coat whenever you wish, but take 
care of the top coat, for such a piece of goods you can’t 
again get in a hurry. Those new shirts, the linen for 
which I spun for you last winter, you know, those with 
the little red hearts at the collar band, do not wear 
them all the time. Put them on only on Sundays and 
holidays so that you’d not wear them out at once, for 
then you’d have no memento of the work of my hands 
—and that would grieve me. Don’t stop your work. 
Keep at it every day and in that way you will chase 
away the loneliness most surely. It will be best if you 
begin right away to work on that cage in which to shut 





BARBARA 311 


up the wind, and when that wearies you, why, just call 
the tenant, take a little sip and smoke and have a little 
game of cards. .. .” 

“Oh, but I'll never drink down the longing for you 
nor smoke it away. I know it can’t be done,’ pite- 
ously cried poor Matysek and held on all the more 
tightly to Barka’s bed covers. Great tears rolled down 
his cheeks meanwhile and Barka, unable to gaze longer 
at his grief with dry eyes, relieved herself by weeping 
with him. 

“Do you know what,” she sobbed, throwing her well 
arm around his neck, “if you will be very lonely and 
if you can’t get along without me—you need not leave 
me there alone. Just start out running after me.” 

You should have heard into what joyous peals of 
laughter Matysek burst when Barka told him how best 
to punish the great loneliness. He was now willing to 
let her go on the pilgrimage and no longer offered any 
objections, for just as soon as he would be the least bit 
lonesome he would start out to meet her there. Barka 
would not even be dreaming of it there on her pil- 
grimage, and suddenly somebody would seize her by the 
apron and would refuse to let her go. Yes, she would 
see! He’d show her! 

If Matysek had let the children go alone to Bezdéz 
for the berries, they would have done to a hair exactly 
what he prophesied to Barka. His journey passed 
quickly, for he often had to stop to scold the children 
and give them proper training. Whenever they liked 


312 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


a spot, they would stop and pick, regardless of where it 
was. Of little use would they have been to Barka. 
They had no other thought on the trip than where they 
could eat the greatest amount of strawberries and 
blackberries. Their cheeks and hands were constantly 
painted with them. At every wayside well he had to 
pause with them and make them wash themselves so 
that people meeting them would not be too horrified 
at their appearance. He made up his mind to complain 
to Barka, that all his trials with them during those 
three days were unequalled in the history of his 
troubles and that the berries surely should do her 
much good. 

He drove the children ahead of him like a herd of 
young goats. Each one bore a load so big that not one 
person, but ten, could have gotten well from eating the 
berries. They, too, had a story to tell about that 
journey to Bezdéz for they, likewise, had learned many 
things they had not before known. 

Before the tenant could intercept him he rushed with 
the children pellmell into the room so that Barka some- 
how by the very sight of the abundant harvest could 
have joy. But he paused on the threshold as if he had 
grown fast to it. The bed beside the window was 
empty. Barka was nowhere in the room. 

It was some time before the tenant could so far 
control her tears as to follow him. He asked her 
nothing nor did he even look at her, though he felt her 
standing beside him. 


i 


BARBARA 313 


“You're surprised, aren’t you, Matysek?” she finally 
addressed him, but her thoughts fairly tore her heart. 

“You had hardly gone when the mistress became so 
well suddenly that she got up. She would not let 
herself be detained, but set out at once on a pilgrimage. 
She said she had already talked over with you how 
you'd arrange things here in case you did not find her 
at home.” 

Barka had died a few hours after Matysek’s de- 
parture. She had felt to a minute the time she was to 
go and happily she left this world before he returned, 
just as she had so fervently prayed God might come to 
pass. She herself had made all arrangements for her 
funeral, had laid aside the money for it, discussed its 
details, and prepared for them all. She pleaded with 
each one in God’s name not to divulge to Matysek 
that she would never again return home. She hoped 
that he would gradually get accustomed to the idea 
of her remaining so long on the pilgrimage. 

He,—to get accustomed to being without her! 

The tenant softly led Matysek to the table, though 
he made no resistance. She brought him something 
to eat and cared for him just as she had solemnly prom-_ 
ised Barka for her own soul’s salvation that she would 
do! Matysek did not respond to her words. Leaving 
the food untouched, he sat quietly, motionless, with 
eyes staring at the bed as if there were not a drop of 
blood in him. 

No coercion could make him go to bed. All night he 


314 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


sat beside the table looking with vacant gaze at the 
empty bed. 

When the tenant came to him the next day, he was 
still sitting at the table. It seemed to her he had grown 
twenty years older and that his hair had suddenly 
become white. He turned and spoke to her. 

“Too much is too much!” he said in a queer hoarse 
voice. “To go away and stay away,—whoever heard 
of such a thing? But since she wanted to go, let her 
stay there. I will do my work here. I'll get along 
without her.” 

“You are right,” the tenant lauded him. “Let her 
stay on her pilgrimage if she wants to. We, again, 
shall stay here. If you are grieved that she left, you'll 
punish her best by not showing it in the least. Next 
time, she’ll think it over more carefully before she sets 
out for some place. Just have a little drink and wash 
down your trouble.” 

And the tenant brought Matysek glasses, cards and 
his pipe just exactly as Barka had ordered her to do. 
Matysek quickly seized upon the glass, cards and the 
pipe with eager hands. But the glass remained full, 
the pipe went out while he held it in his mouth and of a 
sudden he did not even know how to name the cards. 
Alas, he had told her he could not get along without her 
and yet she had gone and left him. It was no wonder 
that again he never lay down in bed and remained 
sitting at the table all night, muttering in a strange 
voice, ‘‘ What is too much is too much!” 





BARBARA 315 


In his work he fared no better. He set himself to 
carving, cutting, glueing, but as soon as he tried to put 
things together nothing seemed to fit. Her merry 
smile was lacking, her loving words, too, which always 
made everything clear to him and, when his memory 
wandered, always led him back to the right path. 
Now that she was not there to admire and encourage, 
everything was all confusion to him and no one could 
seem to straighten things out. Not even a miserable 
broom was he able to make now, for what he put 
together in no wise resembled the others. 

“What is too much is too much,” he whimpered, 
in his little corner from which he could see so well to the 
bed. “Until Barka comes back I'll not be able to do 
a thing worth while, because of grief that she left me in 
spite of everything.” 

And idly he remained sitting in his place hour after 
hour, never taking his eyes from the bed, as if by looking 
hard he could force her to suddenly appear there at last. 

Sometimes he rose and went to the clock to push it 
ahead so that it would go faster, but after a while he 
again came back with downcast head. At other times 
he seized the chalk as if he wished to make marks on 
the door each day Barka was gone, to count up as he 
had before, how long before she returned from the 
pilgrimage. Often he had the door open ready to go 
to see if she were not already returning, but he never 
carried out this intention. He pretended to himself 
that he fully believed in the pilgrimage, but he must 


318 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


have known that she had undertaken a journey from 
which no one has yet returned, regardless of how much 
those left longing push the clocks ahead to hasten the 
moment of reunion or how many chalk marks they make 
on the door. 

Matysek persuaded himself of his self-deception 
that Barka had gone to Vambefice only before others. 
When he stepped before his God he acknowledged the 
truth. He no longer sat among the married men in 
the pews at the right, but cowered in the corridor among 
the beggars who have no one or nothing. There he 
fell on his knees, pressed the rosary to his lips and those 
who stood near him heard nothing else during the 
entire mass except his whispered prayer. “For my 
dead Barbara, my dead Barbara—” 

But when he left the church, he again tried somehow 
to talk himself out of the fact of her death and whom- 
ever he met he asked if they had not met Barka some- 
where, and scolded to them that what was too much 
really was too much, that his wife refused to come back 
home from the pilgrimage. 

And the people did not seek to change him, but as- 
sented that it was indeed a burden to have such a 
roaming wife. Many advised him to leave her where 
she was and not let her into the house even if she would 
come back instantly. He nodded in agreement and 
looked forward to her pleading to be let in. He made 
up his mind that he would let her beg a long time at 
the door before he would open it. _But—whenever he 


BARBARA 317 


entered the room where, near the window, stood her 
vacant bed from which she had smiled at him so ear- 
nestly that his work went rapidly and perfectly—like 
play in fact; from which she had gazed at him so 
happily that he had been able to do whatever people 
asked him, he sank again into his chair gazing dully 
and confusedly into space and his poor mind could 
not cope with what Fate had sent him. 

One morning he arose with brightened brow. It was 
Sunday and the bells were just ringing for early mass. 

“Quickly bring me from the closet the shirt with the 
red hearts and my blue top-coat also,’”’ he ordered the 
tenant in his accustomed voice and manner. 

She was much amazed, for since Barka’s death he 
had never once worn the top-coat. He was taking care 
of it just as she had instructed him to do and the shirts 
with the hearts, which had been spun by her own 
hands, he cherished particularly. Yes, he recalled to 
a hair every word of hers spoken that evening before 
she started him on his journey to Bezdéz. 

“Don’t wait for me to-day from church,” he said to 
the tenant. 

“And why not?” 

“T can’t stand it here any longer. I’m going to 
punish this longing. I shall set out on the road to 
Vamberice. Barka told me if I should get lonely while 
she was gone, that I should start out to meet her, so 
I’m going. Won’t she stare when I suddenly appear 
before her and say, ‘Here I am, our Barka.’” 





318 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The tenant thought that he really meant to carry out 
this oft-repeated threat to lock the door in case Barka 
should come, and nodding assent to his plans, she gave 
him his rosary and cane. 

Long she looked after him as he walked alone. Tears 
filled her eyes. She liked to watch Barka and Matysek 
walk together to church, for one could tell by the very 
way they stepped along that they liked to be together 
here on earth. Poeple laughed, to be sure, and let 
drop a whisper here and there that they were weak in 
thoughts, but so few sins as those two had committed 
surely were to be found in no other household in the 
entire community. 

In vain did the tenant await Matysek’s return to 
dinner. Her children came running home from 
church without him all breathless, heated up and 
frightened. Matysek, they said, had knelt down in 
the corridor as usual, and holding his rosary was praying 
for ““dead Barbara,’’ but when, after the mass, all the 
people stood up, he alone did not arise. When the 
others had gone out from the church he alone did not 
leave. They tapped him on the shoulder, but he did 
not move, only gazed at them strangely. <A terror 
seized the children and they began to scream. The 
people came running up, picked up Matysek, tried to 
bring him back to life, but he remained rigid. 

Matysek had truly gone to find Barka. He could no 
longer wait. He had punished the longing. And it was 
no wonder. What is too much, really is too much!... 





APPENDIX A 


THE PRONUNCIATION OF CZECH WORDS 


a (unmarked) like u in hut. 


oO . “< iz4 oO ee obey. 

u rp hoo took: 

y ee “ce y ee tryst 

& (marked) “ a “ palm. 
Ory o> maehme: 
u or ti “ 00" Sool. 

rs “e “ y “ce yet. 


e 
aj (semi-diphthong) like y in my. 
e (unmarked) like ts in its. 

é (marked) ‘“ ch “ charm. 


d = <. d * verdure: 

nh *' jn canyon. 

§ = EX Sah 6 eine 

t ny sab ot AUCELe. 

Zz i Tl dg ne ae. 

v “ 2 

rt rolled r plus z as in azure. 


j (unmarked) like y in yes. 
ch is a guttural as in Scotch “loch.” 


The suffix -ek gives a diminutive meaning to mascu- 
line names, as “Josef,” Joseph, but “‘Josifek,” little 
Joe; Matys, Matthew, Matysek, little Matthew. In 
the same way, -“ka” is a feminine suffix, as in 
“ Barka.” 

319 


320 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


The primary accent always falls on the first syllable 
in Czech words. 

The suffix “-ova” is added to masculine proper 
names to indicate female members of the family. Thus, 
BozZena Némcova signifies that BoZena is of the family 
or house of Némec. i 

In “Czech,” the English spelling of Cech (Bohemian), 
the ‘‘ez” is pronounced like “ch” in “chair” and the 
final ‘‘ch”’ like “‘ch”’ in the Scotch “‘loch.” 


APPENDIX B 


THE SLAVS 


So many people are under the impression that the 
Slavic tongues are wholly alien to the other languages 
of Europe that a brief statement of what groups con- 
stitute the Indo-European family of languages will not 
be amiss. This family includes eight main branches 
each of which has several sub-divisions. The first or 
Aryan includes the Indian and the Iranian and those 
in turn have sub-divisions which are represented by the 
Sanskrit, the Zend and the old and modern Persian. 
The second is the Armenian branch. The third is the 
Hellenic, which includes all the ancient Greek dialects 
as well as modern Greek. The fourth is the Albanian 
branch spoken in ancient Illyria and in modern Albania. 
The fifth is the Italic branch represented by the Latin 
and other dead dialects and by the modern Romance 
languages, as French, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese. 
The sixth is the Celtic branch with sub-divisions of the 
Gallic, Brittanic and Gaelic and those in their turn 
represented by the Cornish, Irish, Scotch-Gaelic and 
Manx. The seventh branch of the Indo-European 
family is the Teutonic which embraces three main 
groups, the Gothic, now extinct; the Norse, including 
the Swedish, Danish, Norwegian and the Icelandic; 
the West Germanic, which is represented by the Ger- 
man, the Saxon, Flemish, Dutch, Low Franconian, 
Frisian and English. The eighth branch is the Slavonic, 

321 


322 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


sometimes called Balto-Slavic. The languages devel- 
oped around the Baltic sea were the old Prussian, the 
Lithuanian and the Lettic. 

A rough division of the Slavs is territorial compris- 
ing (I.) Eastern Slavs or Russians, consisting of Great 
Russians, White Russians and Little Russians, the last 
named being variously called Ukrainians, Rusins, 
Ruthenians and Carpatho-Russians. (II.) The Western 
Slavs, embracing the Czechs (Cechs), Slovaks, Poles, 
Lusatian Serbs. (III.) The Southern or Jugo-Slavs, 
including the Slovenes, Serbo-Croats and Bulgarians. 

The best authentic division of the Slavs today ac- 
cording to Dr. Lubor Niederle, professor of Archeology 
and Ethnology at the Czech University at Prague, 
the capital of Bohemia and also of the new Republic 
of Czechoslovakia, is as follows: 


1. The Russian stem; recently a strong tendency is 
manifested, toward the recognition within this stem 
of two nationalities, the Great-Russians and the Small- 
Russians. 

2. The Polish stem; united, with the exception of the 
small group of the Kagub Slavs, about whom it is as 
yet uncertain whether they form a part of the Poles 
or a remnant of the former Baltic Slavs. 

3. The LuZice-Serbian stem; dividing into an upper 
and a lower branch. 

4. The Bohemian or Cech and Slovak stem; insepara- 
ble in Bohemia and in Moravia, but with a tendency 
toward individualization among the Slovaks living in 
what was formerly a part of Hungary. 

5. The Slovenian stem. 

6. The Srbo-Chorvat (Serbian-Croatian) stem; in 
which political and cultural, but especially religious, 


APPENDIX B 323 


conditions have produced a separation into two na- 
tionalities, the Serbian and the Croatian. 

7. The Bulgarian stem. Only in Macedonia is it 
still undecided whether to consider the indigenous 
Slavs as Bulgarians or Serbians, or perhaps as an inde- 
pendent branch. 


The common origin of the Indo-European languages 
is determined mainly by two tests which the philologists 
apply. These proofs of kinship are a similar structure or 
inflectional system and a common root system. 

Practically all the common words in use in any of the 
languages belonging to the Indo-European family are 
fair illustrations of the strong relationship existing 
among the eight branches, and are proofs of an original 
or parent tongue known to nearly all of the now widely 
dispersed nations of Europe. For instance, the word 
“mother” in the modern languages has these forms: 
In the French, it is “mére,” abbreviated from the older 
Italic tongue, Latin, where it was “mater,” in the 
Spanish “madre”’; in the German it is “ Mutter”’; in the 
Scotch the word becomes “‘mither”’’; in the Bohemian 
or Czech it is “mater” or “matka”’; and in the Russian 
it is “mat” or “mater.” 

The English verb, “‘to be,” conjugated in the present 
tense is: 


1 am we are 
you are you are 
he is they are 


It is “esse” in the Latin and has, in the present 
tense, these forms: 
sum sumus 
es estes 
est sunt 


324 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


In the Czech, the present indicative of “byti” (to 
be) with the pronouns is: 


ja jsem my jsme 
ty jsi vy jste 
on jest _ oni jsou 


The German is: 


ich bin wir sind 
du bist ihr seid 
er ist sie sind 


The natural similarity of words in the Slavic lan- 
guages is obviously even greater and more pronounced 
than the resemblance of words in the various Indo- 
European tongues. 

Thus, the word “mother” in the principal Slavic 
tongues has three forms: Russian, mati; Czech, mati, 
matka or matef; Serbian, mati; Polish, matka; Bul- 
garian, majka or mama. The word for “water” is 
“voda”’ in all of the above languages except in Polish 
where it is “woda.” The verb “to sit” is, in Russian, 
sidét; in Czech, sedéti; Serbian, sediti; Polish, sied- 
ziec; Bulgarian, sédja. One could trace this similarity 
of roots and suffixes in all the words common in the 
experience of our ancestors. The examples given are 
but two of hundreds or even thousands, which con- 
clusively show that the Slavic tongues are philologically 
related to the other Indo-European tongues. 

The etymology of the word “Slav” was not clear 
for some time. Some philologists connected it with the 
word “slava” which means “glory” or “the glorious 
race.” Others, and the numbers of such linguistic stu- 
dents or scholars exceed the former school, have ac- 
cepted the theory of Joseph Dobrovsky, the Bohemian 


) 
, 





APPENDIX B 325 


philologist, who asserted that the term comes from 
“‘slovo”’ which signifies ““word”’ or “those who know 
words.” ‘The term in the original Slavic is “Slovan” 
which is more closely allied in appearance and sound 
to the word from which it is derived. Dobrovsky 
claimed that the earliest ancestors of the present Slavs 
called themselves “Slované” or “‘men who knew words 
or languages”’ in contradistinction to the Germans who 
did not know their words or language and hence were 
called ““Némci” from “Némy” meaning “dumb.”’ The 
Slavic name for Germans, oddly enough, has remained 
“Némci” or “the dumb ones” to this day. This 
dubbing of a neighbor nation which is dissimilar in 
language and customs recalls the practice of the ancient 
Greeks who named all other nations who were not 
Greeks “barbarians.” 

The name “Czech” or “Cech” as it is correctly writ- 
ten, should by all rights be the only title applied to the 
group of Slavic people occupying the 22,000 square miles 
in what was Northern Austria. It is a word originally 
designating the leader of the small band of Slavs who, 
in the fifth century, emigrating from Western Russia, 
settled in the valley of the Vitava (Moldau) in the 
heart of Europe and there have remained as the sturdy 
vanguard of the Slav people. General Fadejév well said 
in 1869 “Without Bohemia the Slav cause is forever 
lost; it is the head, the advance guard, of all Slavs.” 
From the word “Cech” is derived the poetic name 
“Cechia” for Bohemia, this term corresponding to our 
symbolic “Columbia” for America. 

The names “‘ Bohemia” and “Bohemians” as applied 
to the country and to this group of Slavs respectively, 
are derived from the word “Boji,” or “Boii,” a Celtic 
tribe, occupying the basin of the Vitava and the Elbe 


326 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


before the permanent settlement there of the Czechs. 
Julius Cesar in his “Commentaries on the Gallic Wars” 
speaks frequently of the “Boji” and “‘Marcomanni.” 
The word “Boii”’ was in the Latinized form, “ Bojohe- 
mum,” applied to the country of those early Celts who 
had occupied the country and eventually the name 
“Bojohemum” was changed to “Bohemia.” In the 
later days, the Slav inhabitants became known as 
“Bohemians” to the outside races unfamiliar with the 
correct term “Cech” which to facilitate pronunciation 
by non-Slavs is written “Czech.” The “Cz” is pro- 
nounced like “Ch” in “child,” the “e” like in “net,” 
and the final “ch” is pronounced like “h” sounded 
gutturally. 

When the Magyars or Hungarians, a Mongolian 
tribe, invaded Hungary, they spelled disaster to Slavic 
unity for, linguistically and racially, they were so dif- 
ferent from the Czechs and Slovaks that they have 
ever been a scourge and a menace to those two Slavic 
peoples. 

The Slovaks, most nearly allied in language and 
customs to the Czechs, occupy the fields and Carpathian 
mountains of northern Hungary. A splendid and an- 
cient history is theirs though in latter centuries it has 
become one continuous record of bitter oppression suf- 
fered first at the hands of the Tatar invaders and then 
from the cruel Magyars of Hungary and of the always 
privileged Germans of the Hapsburg domain. Slovakia 
suffered the misfortune of being incorporated with 
Hungary in the tenth century and Magyarization has 
gone on relentlessly as a result. The Slovak language has 
been wonderfully developed since the time of Anton 
Bernolak but every means, every fiendish device has 
been used by the Magyars to utterly exterminate the 


APPENDIX B 327 


race speaking it and to crush out completely all memory 
of the tongue hated so desperately by the Hungarians. 
It must not be forgotten that the Hungarian Count 
Tisza now of tainted fame and unmourned memory, on 
December 15, 1875, said on the floor of the Hungarian 
Parliament, “‘ There is no Slovak nation.’”’ He had done 
his best to annihilate it but it has lived just as the 
spirit of France has lived in Alsace-Lorraine despite 
the superhuman efforts of Hungary’s ally to Germanize 
the “Lost Provinces.” Over 2,000,000 Slovaks live in 
Hungary and nearly a million have emigrated to this 
country as much to avoid the persecutions of the 
Magyars as to earn the advantages of America. 


An 
2 1A) 


ot 





; if Na 
i oF ii ie BS 
ris 





APPENDIX C 


BIBLIOGRAPHY OF CZECH AND SLOVAK LITERATURE 


Batkovsky, Dr. F. Piehled Pisemnictvi Ceského. 
Dr. Ed. Grégr. Prague. 1899. 

Bowring, Sir John. (Wybor z basnictvi teského.) 
Cheskian Anthology. Being a history of the Poetical 
Literature of Bohemia, with translated specimen. 
270 pp. Howland Hunter. St. Paul’s Church Yard. 
London. 1832. 

FlajShans, Dr. V. NejstarSi Pamatky Jazyka i 
Pisemnictvi Ceského. Fr. Batkovsky. Prague. 1903. 

Hrbek, Jeffrey D. List of books in English relating 
to Bohemians and Bohemia. Osvéta Americka. Omaha. 
1908. 

Jesensky, Dr. Jan. Nastin Déjin Slovenskej Litera- 
tury. Ceskoslovenské Tlatéova Kancelar. Ekaterinburg, 
Siberia. 1918. 

Jireéek, Josef. Rukovéti k Déjinam Literatury Ceské 
do Konce XVIII. Véku. Casopis Ceského Musea. 
Prague. 1875-1876. 

Jungmann, Josef. Historie Literatury Ceské. V. 
Tomek. Prague. 1849. 

Lutzow, Count. Lectures on the Historians of Bo- 
hemia; being the Ilchester Lectures for the year 1904. 
120 pp. Henry Frowde. London. 1905. 

Lutzow, Count. A History of Bohemian Literature. 
425 pp. D. Appleton and Company. New York. 1899. 

Morfill, Richard William. The Dawn of European 


329 


330 CZECHOSLOVAK STORIES 


Literature. Slavonic Literature. 264 pp. Society 
for Promoting Christian Knowledge. London. 1883. 

Ninger, Karel. Historie Literatury Ceské. I. L. 
Kober. Prague. 1874. 

Novak, Dr. Jan V. Dr. Arne Novak. P¥ehledné 
Déjiny Literatury Ceské. R. Prombergr. Olomouc. 
1913. 

Ottiv Nautny Slovnik (Otto Encyclopedia). Arti- 
cles on Czech, Slovak and western Slav literature, by 
Fr. Bily, Jos. Hanu’, F. X. Salda, Ant. Truhla¥, Jan 
Vobornik, Jaroslav Vrehlicky. 

Pypin, A. N. and V. D. Spasovit. Piel. Antonin 
Kotik. Historie Literatur Slovanskych. Fr. Simaéek. 
Prague. 1882. 

Selver, P. An Anthology of Modern Bohemian 
Poetry. 128 pp. Henry J. Drane. London. 1912. 

Tieftrunk, Karel. Historie Literatury Ceské. Edw. 
Grégr. Prague. 1885. 

Vitek, Jaroslav. Literatura Ceski Devaténactého 
Stoleti. Jan Laichter. Prague. 1902-1907. Cesttf 
Spisovatelé XTX Stoleti. Prague. 1904. Déjiny Litera- 
tury Slovenskej. Prague. 1890. 

Wratislaw, A. H. The Native Literature of Bohemia 
in the Fourteenth Century. Four lectures delivered 
before the University of Oxford on the Ilchester Foun- 
dation. 174 pp. Geo. Bell and Sons. London. 1878. 


THE END 


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